Crossing the Line
by A Pisces Alone
Summary: A prelude to Red Eye from Jackson's perspective, detailing his surveillance of Lisa after six weeks. Part II: movie events...with a twist. Part III: the aftermath of the flight... what really might have happened.
1. Chapter 1

_**Crossing the Line**_

**_Part I: Surveillance_**

Jackson checked his watch as rain slashed the enormous plate glass window behind him, and he scanned the milling throng in anticipation of her now familiar form…_Lisa Reisert_… He unconsciously folded and creased the well-handled newspaper he had carried for hours. It had been a long day. The job had taken him to Dallas unexpectedly, and now he was headed back to Miami on the red eye; it was incredible how developments in Lisa's life affected his own.

Previous false alarms aside, this was the night. He could feel it. He would have to make the deal with Lisa on board the airplane, of all places, a setting that had its benefits and certainly its drawbacks. And the flight was sure to be delayed by weather, adding yet another difficulty to the now staggering list of problems he'd encountered in the last week. With Keefe's never-ending changes in plan and then Lisa's sudden departure to Texas, Jackson had been in a state of quiet, seething frustration. But now he was getting to it. And about damn time.

Eyes roaming the airport crowd, he contemplated meeting Lisa at last. He knew all the boring things about her that made up her daily behavior. But she was still a rough draft, mere sketches on white paper. In an hour's time, she would be colored, animated, brought to life for him. He would know the sound of her voice, how she smelled, what color her eyes were up close. How she looked when she became upset - because she _would _be upset. He smiled faintly.

His excitement was tempered by the awareness that after tonight, he would have to let go. His smile disappeared. The long, grueling surveillance had taken its toll on him.

And yet, his mind ran back over the weeks with a peculiar nostalgia, recalling the few instances when he'd drifted as close to Lisa as he dared without blowing his cover. Like the time he'd inched his car up behind her in traffic, his bumper almost kissing hers, so that he could see her eyes in her rearview mirror. At first he had attributed these lapses in professionalism to his growing impatience to have the job over with. Now he knew better.

One rainy night two weeks ago had been his turning point. He'd been waiting on Lisa then too…

---------------------------------

As the first raindrops spattered on the windshield, Jackson reclined his seat a fraction and flicked on the wipers. Rapidly, the rain increased to a deafening roar on the roof of his rental Lexus. He sighed and relaxed back into fragrant leather to wait. He was good at waiting; had to be after six weeks.

The phone, clutched loosely in his hand, remained mute. "Come on…" he whispered. The longer this assignment drew out, the more he had begun to worry about himself. But he had to be ready tonight; his moment to act could come at any moment - and it looked solid this time. Jackson had to be near Lisa Reisert, no matter where she happened to be.

Jackson sat in the midst of the nighttime thunderstorm, singing softly to himself. He'd picked up a few strange habits lately - including these little solo performances in his car. A flash of lightning lit the interior, illuminating the mess within: laptop, folders, receipts, cellphone charger wires snaking across the seats, CDs scattered on the passenger side floor; the detritus of weeks of lonely surveillance work. Jackson noted this with some annoyance; normally he kept things less chaotic.

He set the wipers to maximum, and still they labored to clear the deluge from his vision. But not before he saw her. Darting from the Lux Atlantic into the storm, a newspaper held over her head in a laughably futile attempt to ward off the driving rain.

Jackson looked at the clock on the dashboard - 9:32 PM. Lisa had worked over again. He tapped his cell impatiently against his knee, anxious that the go-ahead call would come while she was in transit. If that happened, it would make things complicated; give him less time to work with her.

He watched Lisa duck into her vehicle, saw the headlights of her sensible compact car blink on. He gave her some room before pulling onto the street behind her, chucking his cell phone into the console. "Okay, Leese," he muttered. "Where are we going tonight?" He wasn't sure when exactly he had started talking to her. It bothered him that he did and yet he did not feel compelled to stop. He had to talk to _someone, _after all, or he'd lose his mind. Lisa was the closest thing to a companion he'd had for weeks, other than disembodied voices on the phone.

"Don't go home, _please_. Not again," he pleaded, when her turn signal flashed. She was a flawless driver; always signaling, letting people in front of her with a wave. A good Samaritan.

Lisa's car turned, and Jackson let loose a groan of frustration. It was Saturday night, but her route had every appearance of taking her straight home yet again. He shook his head.

Ten minutes later, her car pulled into the cluster of condos where she lived, and he eased into his usual spot - a good vantage point for the front of her home but not too close. He threw the car into park and turned to the wireless laptop on the seat beside him, pulling the screen into better view. No messages. The call would come any time now, one way or the other. Keefe had boarded his private jet with his family not a half hour before, and if it was confirmed that they were headed for Miami, Jackson would meet Lisa tonight.

The rain drummed the roof monotonously as Jackson tried to stretch his arms and legs as best he could in the confines of the vehicle. He needed to go for a run; he had spent too much time sitting on his ass for this job, and his stomach growled insistently. He'd had no time to eat since morning, what with Keefe's impending flight being delayed all day for God knew what reason.

The phone chirped. Jackson grabbed it eagerly, adrenaline surging. "Yeah," he answered. Desperate to hear his contact, he jammed a knuckle against his other ear to counter the relentless din of the rain.

"What the hell is that?" the voice said suspiciously.

"It's fucking raining. This is Florida, remember? I'm right in the middle of a thunderstorm," Jackson said, annoyed that he was forced to explain.

"Oh. Well, Keefe's not coming to you tonight. Headed for San Fran is the word we're getting."

Jackson's jaw tightened. _Another false alarm. Third one now. _"All right," he said, disguising his frustration.

"So you get to enjoy the weather down there for a while longer." A chuckle.

Jackson laughed sardonically, his tone lost on the other man. "Yeah. Keep me posted, all right?"

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the seat beside him. "Fuck," he spat.

Leaning an elbow on the door frame, he eyed Lisa's condo through the trickling rain on his window. He was off the hook for the night, and probably the next few days. How long was this going to drag out? Well, first and foremost, he needed to eat. He reached for the ignition and paused, fingers gripping the key but not turning it.

Lisa was coming back out of the condo.

Jackson sat up straighter in his seat. As Lisa ran to her car and dove inside, he noted her more casual attire. He raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Going back out, huh, Leese?" he murmured. He started his car. Waited until she had exited the complex before resuming his slow, distanced pursuit of her. Now it was getting interesting.

They stopped at a red light, and Jackson furrowed his brows. _What am I doing? _He had no need to follow Lisa Reisert any longer tonight - his call had come. He sat dumbstruck for a moment and almost laughed at himself. He had followed Lisa for so long that it had become second nature; where she went, he followed. But right now it was unnecessary. He could go back to his hotel and have a long-awaited dinner. Wait for the rain to stop, and go for a late run on the beach. Then go to bed, keeping his phone close at hand of course. But for now, he was free.

The light turned green. Lisa moved on.

Jackson hesitated, glancing into his rearview mirror…no one behind him to hurry his decision. His finger rested on the underside of his turn signal without conviction, applying insincere pressure. He should turn, go back to the hotel and give himself a break. He needed it. His eyes fixed on Lisa's taillights as her car left him behind, carrying her toward her night out.

Jackson's hand dropped from the turn signal. He accelerated smoothly after her.

_Don't do this, _he cautioned himself. _You're over the line. Go back to the hotel. _He resisted this rationale with a credible argument to himself. _I'll just see where she's going first. _

Jackson's instinct for levelheaded professionalism was appalled at this decision, and he gripped the steering wheel harder. He punched a CD into the stereo to distract himself; turned it up. Eyes on his quarry, he noticed peripherally that the rain was slackening. That was the thing about thunderstorms in Miami, he'd learned. They were impressively violent but ended quickly.

Lisa's car nosed into a space along the sidewalk that ran the length of the beach, just across from the trendy area that boasted artsy little galleries, coffee shops, and yuppie bars. Jackson slowed to a crawl, waiting for her to get out before he parked. She dashed across the street to a corner café, the sort of place with an outdoor bistro, which was currently sodden and deserted.

Once Lisa had vanished inside the café, Jackson cruised a short distance down the boulevard until he sighted an empty parking spot. He pulled into it and snapped off the ignition. Gathering his cell and some folders, he rummaged in the glove box for his reading glasses. They weren't much in the way of going incognito, but they were all he had with him.

_Wait a minute. _Jackson froze, one hand full of folders, the other resting on the door handle. There was no reason to go inside. None at all…except that he wanted to. He looked over his shoulder at the café down the street.

"Shit," he muttered. _Don't do this, _he told himself again. He sat back and put the folders down on the seat slowly, eyes locked on the café in his rearview mirror. The drive to get in there - to see her - was unsettlingly powerful. Jackson shut his eyes for a moment and forced himself to think logically. Somewhere, he'd crossed a line. This wasn't surveillance, it was voyeurism. He should remove himself from this damn job right now and hand it over to someone else.

The rain tapered off to intermittent droplets; the silence within his vehicle added to his unrest. He had heard of this happening, on rare occasions, to people who surveilled the same subject for extended periods. They became fixated - would begin to watch the subject even when the job no longer required it. Like now.

He rubbed his hand over his eyes and forehead. He was too into this one. It had gone on too long. And now he couldn't stop watching her. This was dangerous; the potential for big-time fuck-up written all over it. Clearly, the appropriate action to take was to cancel his involvement in the Keefe job. There was time.

Jackson shook his head at himself. He had never backed down from any job, and he was not about to abandon this one, not for a reason like this. For fuck's sake, this was the easiest part of the entire operation. Besides, he could get a handle on his…interest. Again his eyes drifted to the café in his mirror.

_I'll just go in and have a drink. Sit in a corner for a few minutes, make sure it's nothing crucial, _he thought. _That's all. _In his work experience, he had seen the most innocuous details develop into issues of incredible magnitude enough times to know that you gathered as much information as possible. He was known for his thoroughness. And he trusted his own judgment. With this permission from himself he immediately felt better, and blew out a relieved breath.

Collecting his props once again, he glanced at himself in the mirror. He took a moment to dampen his hair with what was left in his bottle of Dasani water and smooth it back from his face. He put on his glasses. He could do little else, but he had to make some attempt to change his appearance. He drew in a deep breath and stepped from his car.


	2. Chapter 2

The humid warmth outside Jackson's vehicle was as smothering as if someone had put a stifling blanket over his face, and his glasses fogged within seconds. _Oh, nice. _Irritated, he took them off. He'd put them back on once he was inside where it was cooler.

He strode across the street, folders under one arm, inhaling the oddly stimulating smell of damp, hot asphalt. Steam rose from the pavement in low wisps that undulated as cars passed. Excitement mounted in him as he reached the sidewalk and started toward the café, classic rock drifting to his ears as he neared it. He glanced at the sign over the door - _Carmelita's._

Outside the café, a waitress was drying the bistro chairs with a green towel. She smiled at him. Jackson returned the smile and went inside.

The place was about as he had expected, a coffee shop-bar-restaurant hybrid that wanted to please everyone. The lighting was low. Jackson declined to sit at the conspicuous bar, opting for a small two-seater booth in a back corner that would give him a good view of the whole café. Walking to it, he kept his eyes from roaming, in case he should pass close by Lisa. This was the riskiest part, and his pulse quickened until he seated himself and allowed himself to survey the room.

Initially, he did not see her. Unperturbed, he opened a few folders on the small cherry wood table and put his glasses back on. Set his cell phone to vibrate, since he would never hear its ring over the loud music. And at last began a discreet scan of the room.

The bar was the most populated area, filled shoulder-to-shoulder with an assembly of youngish patrons. Lisa was not amongst them, however, so Jackson's eye proceeded to the tables and booths.

And found her. Lisa was not thirty feet away, another young woman across the table from her. Both were sideways to him, enabling him to observe their body language easily. Lisa was listening intently and nodding as her friend talked; it appeared the friend was telling a story. A long one.

Jackson leaned back in his booth, directing his attention to his "work" occasionally. People, women especially, seemed to sense when they were being stared at, and he did not want to set off either woman's creep radar. He glanced at Lisa. Her hair was pulled back in some sort of clip, exposing the sides of her face. Perfect. He would almost be able to lip-read her, if the angle were a little better.

Another Saturday night, and Lisa was out with a girlfriend. Most times, she was home alone. Jackson had come to the gradual realization that, unless she were somehow carrying on a long-distance relationship, Lisa had no boyfriend. It hardly seemed possible. Yet it pleased him.

A waitress approached Lisa's table, her back to Jackson. He focused sharply as Lisa turned more in his direction, facing the waitress. "_Um, yeah, I'll have a Sea Breeze," _Lisa's smiling lips said, and Jackson dropped his gaze to his table again to avoid any inadvertent eye contact with her. A Sea Breeze again. Third time in as many weeks.

He picked up a pen and began writing mindlessly down the margin of one of his printouts to maintain his pretense of an overworked techie, student, whatever.

A waitress approached him at last. "Wow," the girl said, eyes widening at the spread of papers and folders across the table. "You must be a real workaholic!"

_You have no idea. _Jackson smiled. "Don't ever work on salary if you can help it," he said.

"Looks like good advice," the waitress said, pulling her notepad from her apron. "But just think, one day you'll probably run the company," she reassured him, pen poised. "What'll you have?"

"A Long Island Iced Tea."

"Anything to eat?" the waitress asked.

Jackson glanced at Lisa's table. Neither she nor her friend had ordered any food. She might have only stopped in for a drink and could leave at any time. He was not about to order a plate of something he would have to abandon to follow her out. "No, not just yet. Maybe later," he said politely, though his pinched stomach grumbled.

The waitress left, and Jackson turned back to Lisa. She was making sympathetic faces to her friend, who was becoming increasingly animated in her storytelling. Neither of them were smiling or laughing as one would expect two young women having drinks to be; it seemed Lisa's role tonight was that of supportive shoulder.

Jackson leaned back in his booth again, envisioning Lisa coming home from work to find a distressed message from this friend - a break-up, perhaps, or some other melodrama that needed to be rehashed over drinks. And Lisa, trusty friend and good listener, had rushed to her aid. More proof that she had no personal life of her own.

His drink arrived and he started on it, surreptitiously watching Lisa. He wished her friend would shut up. He had come to watch Lisa; to glean what he could about her from this little excursion, and so far she had done nothing but nod and sip her Sea Breeze.

But he was not disappointed. Just being in the same room as his target without her knowledge, observing her so closely, was enough to send a low but constant buzz of excitement through him. This was the highlight of his week.

_That's fucking pathetic, _he thought uncomfortably. Looking down, he saw he had written this thought out on paper, and he scribbled through it quickly.

_Whoa, whoa…what's this? _A man had approached Lisa's table, drink in hand, grinning down at her. He said something Jackson could not make out, and Lisa smiled up at him. Laughed. Despite the laugh, Jackson noticed her unease in the way she brushed nonexistent loose hair back behind her ears repeatedly.

Jackson narrowed his eyes and removed his glasses even though the prescription in them was very light; wanting to see the scene as clearly as possible. Lisa could not possibly be shy, but she was plainly uncomfortable with this man. The guy was tall, tan, athletic looking; clad in the polo shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops of the standard beach yuppie. Should be her type.

Something encouraged the guy, and he pulled out a chair at their table. Lisa's friend did not seem to mind the interruption, but Lisa herself looked less than thrilled, though her smile hung on gamely.

Jackson bordered on staring openly at their table and knew it, but Lisa was entirely too distracted to notice him in his corner. He gulped the rest of his drink and rolled his pen tightly in his fingers, watching. Did she know this guy? Or was he a stranger to her?

Lisa said something that made the guy laugh, loud enough that Jackson could hear him above ELO's "Sweet Talkin' Woman" blaring from the bar. His jaw tightened. The guy was probably half-drunk, and obnoxious. Lisa had begun to lean away from him, and her smile was fading.

Edgy, Jackson repositioned himself in his booth, annoyed that the guy was too dumb to pick up on what he himself could see from across the room. _She's not interested, shitface, _he thought, his own level of hostility catching him off guard. Just then he saw that Lisa's friend was looking directly at him in his corner, and he tore his eyes from their table.

He should leave. Now. What the fuck was wrong with him? He started to stuff a few pages back into their folders as if picking up to go, but it was half-hearted; he could not ditch his post now. The scene was far too irresistible. This was the most interesting thing that had happened to Lisa for well over a month. He stopped shuffling his papers and ventured another glance at her. She had folded her arms over her chest, just as the asshole laughed boisterously again.

His view was suddenly blocked. A girl had slid into his booth across the table from him, grinning broadly. "Hi!" she said brightly.

Jackson stared blankly at her for a moment. "Uh…hi," he said, feeling ambushed. The girl was young, probably college aged, with wild, curly hair. And looked a few drinks past her bedtime.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she barged ahead. "You looked so lonely over here in the corner by yourself."

Jackson tried to peer around the girl's head, but her hair had such volume that it literally obscured his view of Lisa's table. He forced a smile and injected smoothness into his voice. "Well, that's very thoughtful of you. But…"

"How can you concentrate?" the girl asked, peering closely at him in puzzlement.

"What?" Jackson asked distractedly.

"How can you concentrate?" the girl repeated more loudly, hiking up her banana yellow tube top. "I mean, whatever you're reading," she gestured to his papers. "How can you work in a place like this?" She flapped a hand toward the bar.

Jackson was already tired of her. "It's really not that difficult. What's your name?" he asked.

The girl grinned, showing a row of laser-whitened, expensive teeth. "Crystal."

"Listen…Crystal," Jackson said, smiling to soften the blow, "I really need to get this work done tonight. I'm sorry."

"That's ok. It doesn't bother me at all," she said, her fingers exploring the edges of one his folders. "Go ahead."

Jackson sighed inwardly. He slid over in his booth seat until his shoulder bumped the wall, and looked past Crystal, resuming his observation of Lisa.

"I thought you looked really lonely," Crystal said. "I've been watching you all night."

"I've only been here twenty minutes."

Crystal laughed riotously. Jackson ignored her, eyes fixed on Lisa, who was shaking her head at Asshole - refusing him something.

"You have the prettiest eyes," Crystal said unabashedly. "I bet they get you in all kinds of trouble."

_Have another drink, Crystal. _Jackson picked up his glasses from the table and put them back on.

Lisa was shaking her head again, and the guy was getting up from her table with a look of defeat.

Watching the guy retreat to the bar, Jackson relaxed, unaware that he'd been tense. Lisa glanced around the room, and Jackson looked away quickly, dodging her eyes. She appeared relieved that the man had left, but her friend looked at her sadly, disapproval visible in her features, and said something to her. Lisa responded with a casual shrug.

"Boy, you don't have much to say, do you?" Crystal said, jolting Jackson out of his vigil.

She was a nuisance, and it was an effort to hide his growing irritation. "I told you. I'm here to work, Crystal. If you're looking for someone to buy your drinks for you, I'm not your guy." He'd tried to be diplomatic and honest, but his temper leaked into his voice.

The effect was immediate. Crystal's face contorted in offended fury. "I was going to buy _you _one. _Asshole_," she spewed.

_Uh-oh. _

Crystal picked up his glass, insult glittering in her eyes. Rattling the ice and water left in it, she plucked the lemon from the edge of the glass and tossed it, with a sidelong flick of her wrist, onto the table. Then upended the glass onto his folders with deliberate slowness, never taking her eyes from his. Without another word, she slid out of his booth and walked away.

Jackson stared at the wet mess before him, anger mixing with amusement. Well, at least she'd been quiet about it. For a terrible second, as she'd picked up his glass, he'd thought she would throw the ice water in his face; causing attention to be drawn to his corner.

As water from the puddle on the table began to run off the edge and patter onto his thigh, his eyes flicked towards Lisa. Oblivious…good. Another classic sign of obsession, he reflected; that he would pass up the chance of an easy lay with Crystal merely to eyeball Lisa Reisert some more.

"Oh, you poor thing! Did she dump that on you?" his waitress said, seeing him sitting at his dripping table. She produced a dishrag and began to immediately mop up the water and ice.

Jackson smirked. "Guess I wasn't her type."

"Oh, no, it's all over your…_stuff_!" the waitress exclaimed in a hushed voice, not wanting to draw attention to his predicament. Jackson sent her a silent thanks.

He picked up the pile of sopping folders, water dripping from them. "Do me a favor. Throw this away, would you? It's more trouble than it's worth."

The waitress took the files hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

Jackson picked up the lemon wedge from the table and set it on top of the folders in her hands. He smiled. "I'm sure." His papers were nothing more than printouts of various internet sites; dummy sheets he had put into folders for public occasions like this. His real work documents had been shredded weeks before, their contents secure in his memory.

"Okay." She turned to go, grabbing his glass deftly between two fingers. "How about I bring you another of these?"

Jackson considered, his eyes playing over Lisa's form.

He turned back to the waitress. "Uh, yeah, thanks. But…could I have something else?"

"Sure! What can I get you?"

Jackson smiled. "A Lusty Lisa."


	3. Chapter 3

Jackson's Lusty Lisa arrived. Before drinking, he raised his glass to Lisa in an inconspicuous toast. _Here's to you, Leese. For giving both of us a night out. _He bolted it in two swallows.

The dampness on his leg was becoming uncomfortable, though the chill of the ice water had faded. He'd have to deal with it, or risk leaving the place looking like he'd pissed on himself. Verifying that Lisa was still entrapped in conversation with her friend, he slid out of his seat and made a sharp left - the restrooms being almost directly behind his booth.

In the relative quiet of the men's room Jackson contemplated the failure he'd witnessed at Lisa's table. The guy from the bar had completely turned Lisa off, and this made Jackson eager to attempt his own line of attack. Lisa would require a gentle approach in the beginning; the same sort of non-threatening smoothness that he happened to possess. After that, of course, his behavior would matter far less; hers would take center stage. The entire operation hinged on Lisa, but it was getting harder for him to curb his impatience to meet her.

Jackson tore a handful of brown paper towels from the dispenser and pressed them to his damp thigh. It didn't help much. Checking his reflection in the streaky mirror, he saw that his hair had dried and was falling forward in its more usual manner. He stuck his hand under the faucet and swiped it through his hair again, hoping it would stay back a while longer this time.

He turned to go. He tugged the door handle, took two steps out of the room, and narrowly missed colliding with a woman in the hallway heading toward the ladies' room. His arm grazed hers the very instant he recognized her.

_Lisa. _

As if in slow motion, he saw her turning toward him in mid-stride, her auburn hair tossing back over her shoulder; saw her eyes, beneath downcast lashes, begin their ascent to his face. In terrible apprehension, he realized she was going to apologize to him, initiating their first contact. He could not let it happen; their relationship was to be on his terms only.

Turning his face away as if afflicted with a mortal shyness, he muttered an apology and hurried on. _Goddamn, that was close. _He felt like a coward, and she probably thought he was, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that he had almost blown his cover tonight for no good reason. _That's it… time to go. _He'd been lucky so far that his close calls had done no real damage, but luck didn't last. Reprimanding himself, he quickly moved toward the bar, hoping to pay and be gone before Lisa came out of the restroom.

His waitress was behind the bar, making a Pina Colada. Jackson had to squeeze between people to reach her, and she smiled at his approach. "How was that Lusty Lisa?"

Jackson grinned. "Stronger than I expected." He pulled his wallet from his pocket; extracted enough money to pay for his drinks and give her a generous tip. At that moment, over and between heads on the opposite side of the bar, he saw Lisa returning to her table. So much for getting out of the building before she came back.

The waitress laughed. "You don't like strong women?"

Jackson considered. He did like strong women, if the source of that strength were a naturally forceful personality, or life experience. Not when it came from their friends, therapists, or self-help books that encouraged women to slip into strength and flaunt it as if it were a trendy outfit, whether it fit them or not. Sincerity of character carried much more weight with Jackson.

His silence drew the waitress's eye from the drink she was topping off. "Do I take that as a 'no'?"

Jackson glanced at Lisa. She was picking up her purse, and hugging her friend over the table. Leaving already.

"No, I wouldn't take it as a 'no'," he said. Leaning closer on the bar, he slid the cash over the lacquered surface toward the waitress. "It's just not my number one priority."

"And what would that be?" she said, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously.

He glanced at the nametag on her chest, then met her eyes. "Honesty." He paused, giving her the full force of his gaze. "Thanks, Vicky."

"Sure," she said, a light flush appearing in her face.

Jackson made his way around the opposite side of the bar from Lisa, watching her as she weaved through the increasing crowd. He moved in tandem with her, slowing when she slowed, keeping his eye on her.

She was stopped by a small group bottlenecked in the aisle, and waited politely. Jackson paused as well, not wanting to get ahead of her. To shadow her every move was a primeval dance, a tango of hunter and hunted that electrified every sense. His mind flashed back to the near-collision in the hallway a few minutes before, the slippery thrill of it increasing the buzz he already felt.

Lisa jolted back; someone had thrown an arm out in front of her, impeding her progress. Jackson craned over heads to see that Asshole was making one last attempt at getting Lisa's number. His tanned face reddened as she shook her head again, but he raised his arm like a toll booth gate and let her pass beneath, eliciting laughter from his friends.

Lisa picked up the pace after that, fairly dashing for the exit. Trailing her steadily, Jackson shot a last glance at Asshole. The guy was staring after Lisa, enduring howls and jeers from his buddies. One pushed his shoulder, goading him into pursuing her. Seeing this, Jackson slowed his steps, preparing to alter his course.

Asshole seemed to reach some internal tipping point as he watched Lisa walk across the street outside, and suddenly abandoned his bar stool, pulling on his baseball cap with a savage twist. Going after her.

Jackson, jaw set, advanced in his direction at once. The guy swaggered to the café's entrance and shoved the door open, then paused briefly on the sidewalk. A dozen or so paces behind him, Jackson saw through the front windows that Lisa's car was already pulling out of its space. _Too late, asshole. _

But stoked with beer and jeers, Asshole was in no mood to give up. He fumbled in his khaki shorts for his keys.

_Unbelievable…_Jackson blew out a sharp, aggravated breath, shook his head, and walked faster, shoving his way through people. He exited as Asshole was letting himself into his car, one of those tiny street racers that looked like shopping carts to Jackson, with their lawnmower wheels and oversized spoilers. Jackson jogged to his Lexus and jumped in, just as he heard the whine of the other car coming to life.

He took off his glasses and threw them with a clatter onto the laptop beside him, reversing his car quickly.

Asshole missed a gear and the little car bucked, then took off. Jackson sped after him, his eyes searching farther up the road to find the taillights of Lisa's car not a quarter mile ahead.

What did this guy think he was doing? Snubbed and drunk, he might do anything if he managed to follow her home. If something happened to Lisa Reisert, it would throw the entire operation into jeopardy. Tonight, Lisa was under his protection, though she would never know it. _Don't thank me now, Leese…_

Jackson moved into the right lane, his mind racing. He gunned the Lexus until he was alongside Asshole's car, then pushed it even harder, passing him.

At the next light, the two lanes would narrow to one, the right hand lane becoming a turn-only. The intersection hurtled toward him, and he pressed the gas to the floor, eyes fixed on Lisa's car two blocks ahead.

Flying to the intersection, he jerked the wheel, slicing into the left lane in front of Asshole just as they passed beneath the traffic light, sending puddles cascading through the air. He'd almost clipped the other car, saw it swerve violently. There was a furious, prolonged blare from the horn.

Jackson eased his foot off the gas. His eyes alternated between Lisa's taillights ahead, and the enraged man behind, tailgating him.

He slowed further.

More honking. The little go-cart rode his bumper so close Jackson could no longer see its headlights in his mirror.

He slowed still more, resting his foot on the brake. The car behind him nosed down sharply, almost hitting him.

"Come on, Leese, get a move on," Jackson coaxed, watching her as she drew farther away. Oblivious to the road rage situation several blocks behind her, she cruised along leisurely.

Asshole made a sudden move to pass on the wrong side of the road, but Jackson anticipated this and forced the Lexus into his path again, prompting more racket from the little car's shrill horn. In his mirror, he could see the guy hammering his steering wheel like a baby throwing a tantrum, and he laughed. He knew the guy was screaming at him.

Another pass attempt. Jackson cut him off yet again. He turned up the volume on his stereo to drown out the now endless blare issuing from the car behind him. And, with relief and a sense of pride, watched as Lisa's car disappeared from view. Asshole had now lost her. Jackson tapped his brakes again, giving Lisa a little extra space.

Time to wrap this up. Seeing the large semicircular drive of a towering office building just ahead, he pulled into it. He knew that by now, the hothead behind him was enraged enough to have forgotten his original intention in leaving the bar. Coasting to a stop, Jackson opened the console between seats, resting confident fingers on the deadly solidity of the Glock within. Shooting was not his strong suit, but at close range anyone was a marksman. The corners of his lips curved in a subtle smile.

The little car stopped abruptly behind him, brakes shrieking. Jackson rolled his window down even before the guy had gotten out of his car. He tilted his head and watched in the side mirror as his opponent emerged with a yell.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem, man!" The guy showed no caution whatsoever as he approached, too pumped up to consider the mistake.

Jackson's eyes darted over his form quickly, confirming that he carried no weapon. He relaxed indolently in his seat, and turned his stereo back down.

The guy pounded a fist on the trunk of Jackson's car, working his way toward the window. "I'm gonna fuck you up, asshole! Get outta that piece of shit, you little faggot!"

Jackson waited. The guy reached his window, arms bowed out from his sides, ready to start swinging. "_I said get outta that car!" _His eyes were bloodshot and sweat beaded his face. He paused, taking in Jackson's cool demeanor, his neutral expression. This threw him off briefly, expecting to encounter rage matching his own.

"Do you know her?" Jackson asked calmly.

The expression on the guy's face changed so suddenly it was comical. "Huh?" he said, leaning forward slightly, eyebrows raised.

"Do you know her?" Jackson repeated, icy eyes boring into the other man's.

"Know who?"

"The woman you were trying to follow home," Jackson said.

The guy remained bent at the waist, sweat rolling down his cheeks from the humidity, squinting in confusion at the interrogation. "You know you almost wrecked my car? I oughta kick your goddamn ass!" He moved toward the window.

Jackson raised the Glock above his lap, pointing it directly at him.

Asshole froze, and his arms began to drift upwards as if suddenly filled with helium. "Oh. Shit."

Jackson waited. After a few seconds, the man's eyes moved from the gun to Jackson's face. No rage now, only a dawning terror.

"What's her name?" Jackson asked.

"Lisa," the guy said, in a slightly strangled voice, keeping his hands up as if expecting to be arrested.

"What's her last name?"

"Umm…I don't…she didn't…"

"So you don't know her." Jackson stated. "Is that right?"

The guy licked his lips, mouth gone dry. "Hey man, if that's your ex or something, I.."

Jackson opened his mouth slightly to speak; raised the gun a fraction. The man's defensive babble cut off.

"She's a Federal witness," Jackson said. He let this penetrate the man's inebriated brain for a moment.

Eyes darting from Jackson's face to the interior of his car, the guy observed the laptop, papers, and other clutter. He appeared to deflate; it was all coming together for him now; the implications sinking in. "No shit."

"No shit," Jackson echoed. "So I have to know why you were stalking her."

The ugly word hung in the air, and Jackson took an ironic pleasure in the guilt suffusing the other man's face.

"Stalking…no. No! I just met her…" He hung his head. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

Jackson ignored this. "Why were you following her?"

The guy put a hand over his face in distress, then made a limp gesture toward the direction Lisa had gone. "I don't know. I was gonna flatten her tires or something. Nothing _bad…_" he gave a cringing shrug.

Jackson nodded, lowered the gun. "Just your typical vandalism…a little property damage? That's all?" he sneered. Now that the situation was controlled, his own reaction began to filter through. Looking at the sweaty, embarrassed and fearful man anxious for escape, Jackson felt an outpouring of contempt. "This job has taken up my life for weeks. And along comes a jackass like you to make it even more complicated," he said with derisive smoothness.

Face slack, the guy took a step back from Jackson's car. "I'm sorry." His apology was so meek, so genuine it would have been funny, had Jackson been in the mood to laugh.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Jackson said sarcastically, turning away. "Why don't you do _one_ smart thing tonight…go home."

"Yessir. I'm sorry."

Jackson watched in his rearview mirror as the loser fled to his vehicle, and backed out of the drive onto the street. A sharp squeal of tires broadcast his swift departure. He was so scared and drunk, it would be hours, or even tomorrow, before he would begin to question the incident in his mind.

Now that the confrontation was over, Jackson suffered the letdown of spent adrenaline, but he felt vindicated for his decision to stick by Lisa. Had he gone back to his hotel earlier, Lisa would have been followed home by the drunken jerk, and though he might have done no more than flatten her tires or key her car; in retrospect there was no way to be sure. Jackson did not want to think about what would have happened to the operation if Lisa had ended up in the hospital, missing, or dead. The job would have been essentially over; his reputation in tatters.

Pondering this, Jackson turned and watched the colossal fountain between the main road and the drive he was parked on. He suddenly felt how utterly tired he was. A strong breeze blew from the Atlantic, hissing through the professionally uplit palms and carrying a fine, cool spray from the fountain to his car, misting his face through his open window.

He closed his eyes at the soothing sensation…and in his mind's eye saw Lisa sitting at the table, smoothing her hair nervously with timid fingers as she tried to discourage her unwanted guest. The fake smile, so transparent to Jackson from across the room; almost painful to watch. "_Smile… like you mean it…" _Jackson sang quietly, as another cool mist drifted across his face.

He couldn't sit here all night. Rousing himself, he put the Lexus in motion, pulling out onto the boulevard. Checking the time, he saw that it was too late to get any room service at his hotel now. He'd have to swing through the taco place and pick up a couple of burritos. But first, he had another stop to make.

Lisa's street…by now Jackson knew every dip in the pavement, every tree. The black and white cat was sitting under her neighbor's car, ready to begin its nightly patrol. Lisa's car was in its proper place and unmolested. As for Lisa herself…what she did in the privacy of her home was a mystery. But that would soon change.

Lisa was home. Jackson drove on, at last releasing himself from duty for the night.

" 'night, Leese," he whispered, exhausted. "See you tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

At last Jackson glimpsed Lisa, stepping smartly along in low heels through the airport, cell phone buried in soft waves of auburn hair. In an instant, his pulse quickened. He got up from his chair gratefully, stretching the cramped muscles in his legs, his eyes tracking Lisa through the crowd as she headed toward the long lines for their flight. Starting in her direction, Jackson decided to get in a line next to hers. With a glance upward at the flight board, he saw that their plane was now delayed.

The thrill of opportunity washed over him as he neared Lisa and saw that there was no one directly behind her in line. He had not planned to speak with her before being seated next to her on the plane. There was no need to. Flashing dear old Dad's wallet would be enough, and he was confident in his ability to persuade. Approaching her now would jeopardize his position if the operation was postponed again - not impossible, even at this late hour. Plans changed, itineraries were scrapped, and things went back to square one. Without absolute confirmation, speaking to Lisa was an unnecessary risk.

But instinct provided him with all the confirmation he needed. This was the night. No more fucking around. And Lisa might tolerate the deal from him better if they had some previous conversation behind them; be less likely to freak out and make some sort of scene on the plane.

He had waited long enough. After eight weeks of discipline, he deserved this. Eyes locked on the back of her head, Jackson unobtrusively stepped into line just behind her.

Unfolding his newspaper, he glanced down at her legs. Followed their shapely lines up to her skirt, and to her rear end. _Nice_. With patience, he turned his eyes back to his paper. His chance would come any minute now.

He hadn't been this keyed up since he'd first seen the interior of Lisa's condo…

-----------------------------------

Jackson paced the balcony of his fourth-floor hotel room, glancing back inside now and then at the laptop he'd left open on the dresser. The afternoon was getting late, the hotel's shadow stretching farther across the beach. He leaned on the railing of the balcony, squinting at the horizon. He was enjoying his "day off" from tailing Lisa, although he knew he would be across the street from the Lux Atlantic when she left work that night. Keefe was tied up in San Francisco for two days, but Jackson had no intention of slacking off.

That morning, he had put in a call to technical support and requested interior surveillance capabilities at Lisa's condo.

"I need a nanny cam at 9261 Sandpiper Drive," Jackson had said.

The tech had laughed at this description. "Which room?" A pause. "Or do you need more than one?" A hint of salaciousness in his tone.

Jackson chewed his bottom lip, his eyes drifting out the sliding glass door to the sun rising over the Atlantic. No one would question his decision; this was his job to manage. But, in his own estimation, if he asked for a camera to be placed in Lisa's bedroom, he would have officially lowered himself to scumbag. No better than the pieces of shit who put mirrors on their shoes to see up girls' skirts in public.

He cleared his throat. "No. Just one. The living area." Swallowing a slug of coffee did little to ease the disturbing twinge of regret.

"Okay. Is the residence clear right now?"

"Not yet, but it should be by noon. I'll call you," Jackson had said.

Now, hours later, he waited for word of the installation, and watched tourists straggling back to the hotel. They trekked across the sand in anticipation of dinners out, skin burned to the shade of raw steak. Jackson's eyes moved from the beach to the sky. A huge thunderhead lurked far out at sea, silent lightning forking down to meet the ocean.

The outing to Carmelita's the night before - and the ensuing chase and confrontation with Asshole - was making him damned paranoid about this job. There was no such thing as too much surveillance. Knowing how Lisa functioned at home might not be any real help, but it certainly would do no harm.

_Just keep telling yourself that…_ He leaned on the balcony railing again to study the other hotel guests spread out around the turquoise swimming pool below. Jackson had never once visited the pool area himself, though he had been ensconced in his room since the end of June - long enough to have noticed the change in the hotel's demographics. As the summer began to wind down, the lounge chairs that had been occupied previously by attractive, golden-skinned young women were more likely to be stretching under the weight of Uncle Joe from New Jersey. Jackson looked over his balcony less and less.

He heard his cell ring, and went back inside, grabbing it. "Yeah," he answered, his other hand stroking the laptop to awaken the screen.

"You're up and running," the tech said. He instructed Jackson where to locate the live feed.

Jackson found it quickly, and held his breath as he waited for the web cam image to load. He maximized the window, and the living area of Lisa's condo slowly came into view. It was color, and it was sharp. Jackson whistled. "Beautiful," he said softy.

"You have some zoom capability. Use the toggle there on the left," guided the tech.

Jackson did so, zooming in slightly toward the kitchen in the background. "That's great. I appreciate it," he said, keeping his tone neutral.

"No problem. Do you have a removal date for it?"

"No. Nothing firm," Jackson said.

After the call ended, he put the cell down and stood looking at the window into Lisa's life. Leaning close, he studied her home intently. It was tidy and tastefully decorated with what appeared to be quality furniture. He expected as much. There were two books on the coffee table in front of her sofa, and he was interested to know what they were, but the camera could not zoom nearly that close.

Mildly disappointed, he leaned back. An unexpected spasm of guilt wrenched him, and he ran a hand through his hair in agitation. There was no call for such in-depth supervision of his subject. A month ago, he would have never done this. Jackson stabbed the power button, and Lisa's living room blinked out. He slammed the laptop shut. "_Fuck it._"

-----------------------------------------------

Night again. Jackson's eyes followed Lisa across the parking lot of the Lux Atlantic as she left work. How many times now? It had become routine for him, and there were instances when he hated Lisa for her monotonous habits. She had gone out last night to Carmelita's, so she would certainly stay home tonight. If not for her job, Jackson would have thought her an agoraphobe.

Last night's events had been dicey but stimulating. Pulling onto the palm tree-lined boulevard a few lengths behind her, he hoped desperately that she would break her routine again.

"How about another Sea Breeze, Leese?" Jackson suggested, hanging back in traffic. "I'll even chase off the assholes for you…like I did last night," he offered thanklessly.

Lisa answered with a flashing turn signal.

"Home again?" Jackson observed. "I don't know about you and me, Leese," he said with a doubtful shake of his head. "This just doesn't seem to be working out between us." He turned after her.

Jackson looked over at the laptop on the passenger seat; an accusatory reminder of his fixation. It was on, but closed. With a few keystrokes, he could see Lisa as she walked in her front door. And whatever else she did afterwards. _Do I really need to see that?_

He let some distance come between his car and Lisa's. "You know…I think I need more space, Leese. I really have to think about our relationship." A smile curved his lips as he began to enjoy the imaginary conversation, but underlying his flippant words was a sensible rationale. He _did _need to give himself some space from Lisa Reisert. Her car began to leave him behind. It didn't matter. He knew where she was going. "No, I won't be doing surveillance on anyone else. I promise."

Irritated at her tedious lifestyle, Jackson drove past Lisa's street without bothering to watch her car enter it. What the hell was wrong with her? There was no reason for someone like Lisa - attractive, successful, dependable - to be on self-imposed house arrest. _Why, then? _Brooding over this, something nagged his subconscious, a feeling he was missing a piece somewhere. Or maybe he was reading too much into this…it could merely be a recent breakup, or some other trivial event that grew to epic proportions in a female mind.

Bored frustration building, he kept driving. Further down the road he passed a movie theater, several bars and restaurants…alluring alternatives to sitting in the car, straining his eyes at a computer screen.

But a small shopping plaza, deserted at this hour, caught his eye. He turned into the parking lot and edged the Lexus into a space.

Jackson cast a guilty eye at the laptop, sighed…and gave in. He reached over, fingertips caressing its surface. "Ahh, you know I don't mean it, Leese," he said in a soothing whisper, pulling the screen open slowly. "Come here."

He checked his surroundings hurriedly, making sure no one was close by. Then brought up the window to the web cam, his knee bouncing impatiently against the steering column as he waited for it to load.

Lisa. Putting her things down on a small table almost out of the camera's range, back to him. She took off her shoes one at a time, standing on one leg alternately, and threw them carelessly in a corner.

A slow smile spread over Jackson's face. "Hello, Leese…how was your day?" he greeted her softly, almost affectionately.

For the next hour, he watched as Lisa sorted her mail, microwaved soup for dinner, and ate it in front of the late newscast. She disappeared for a while into another room, causing him to tap anxious fingers on the console until she returned in a University of Miami tee shirt and shorts. They were slightly wrinkled, drawing a smirk from Jackson.

Lisa sat in a corner of her sofa, legs tucked beneath her, her hair pulled back in something between a bun and a messy ponytail, an I-don't-give-a-damn hairstyle never meant to be seen by others.

Pensive, Jackson stared at her, experiencing an unusual array of thoughts and feelings. This was, quite possibly, the most destructive activity he could engage in. To eventually succeed at his task, it was vital that he regard Lisa as nothing more than an instrument; a tool he needed and would use briefly before discarding. Watching her live her life until the battery in his computer ran low would damage that disciplined perception. And he was doing it voluntarily.

Lisa had not moved from her spot on the sofa; probably wouldn't until she got up to go to bed. She scratched her leg and yawned.

A sudden feeling of disgrace overwhelmed Jackson. Not because he was watching her, but because his desperate isolation had driven him to the point where he could take pleasure in seeing someone at their most boring.

_Pathetic._

More and more, he was using that word to describe himself in his thoughts, and it bothered him.

Jackson reversed the Lexus out of the spot in the shopping plaza and muscled it onto the main drag, stomping the gas with more force than was necessary. _Enough of this. _Without looking, he stretched out a hand and shut the laptop. Then picked it up and hoisted it into the back seat.

He needed a sanity break. Keefe was accounted for. Lisa was accounted for. Jackson had his cellphone; if anything changed, he would hear about it. He was ready to make his move whenever the time came.

In the meantime, he would do what he should have been doing all along - enjoying this tropical paradise while he had the chance.


	5. Chapter 5

Ocean-scented air flowing through the lowered window of his Lexus, Jackson tried to empty his mind of all things work-related and focus on his surroundings. At this late hour, the traffic was as light as it got in Miami, although people still roamed the sidewalks. He coasted along the boulevard, passing the public beach area. Maybe a run on the shore was in order; nothing cleared the cobwebs like a good hard sprint. His gym bag with shorts and running shoes inside was right behind his seat, too.

A familiar sign with pink neon flamingos caught his eye. _Carmelita's. _Maybe what was needed was a drink or two to take the edge off. _Why not? _Jackson had no trouble finding a space across the street. It felt liberating to get out of the car with no files, no half-assed disguise. Like a real person.

Walking across the street as he had the night before, he had a sense of déjà vu. But tonight, no music resonated from within the bar…and Lisa was not waiting inside. At the memory of the previous night's excitement, he felt a faint pang of wistfulness, which made him annoyed. _Stop it._

Vicky, his helpful waitress from last night, was wiping down the bistro tables outside.

"Hi, Vicky," Jackson said, pausing to greet her.

She looked over her shoulder at him, face blank. Then broke into a wide smile, blushing slightly. "Oh, hey!" She straightened. "I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you without the glasses! Um…"

"John," he said, offering a hand.

She took it with a gentle grip. "Hi." Her hand was damp from the dishtowel, and soft. "Vicky. Well, you already knew that," she said, embarrassed.

Jackson smiled. "Pretty quiet night?"

"Well, we're actually just closing," Vicky winced, as if afraid to disappoint him.

No music, lots of free parking spots…of course - Sunday night. Jackson looked at his watch, then around the street, stunned that he had not realized this. "What was _I _thinking?" he murmured, more to himself.

Vicky laughed. "It's okay. I lose track of what day it is too." She resumed her wiping of the table. Glancing up to see Jackson still standing there, she appeared to take pity on him. "I can make you a drink anyway," she offered.

"No, don't do that, Vicky. You probably want to finish this so you can get out of here. I won't hold you up."

Vicky pushed a chair in under the table, its iron feet scraping on the sidewalk. "You should come back on Tuesday, it's karaoke night. Gets pretty crazy." Her long chestnut hair swayed as she moved. "Are you on vacation?"

"No. I've been here on business since the end of June."

"Oh, that's right…all those folders you brought here last night."

Jackson shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for two Harleys to pass noisily by. "Yeah. I thought I'd give myself a break from that tonight." He stared across the street, his eyes coming to rest on the side window of an art gallery. "I've spent weeks in my hotel room. And my car. This job's sucking the life out of me," he said quietly. He could hardly believe he'd spoken the words, but they were out now.

Vicky paused, his sincerity drawing her attention. She tilted her head, eyes softening. "When do you get to go home?"

Jackson smiled reassuringly. "Pretty soon, I think. Can't last much longer." After a moment, he clarified, "I mean the job, not me."

Vicky laughed, pushed in the last chair, and gave a final swipe over a table. "You know, I came _so_ close to introducing you to someone last night. Especially after you ordered that second drink."

Jackson's skin tingled presciently. "Really?"

"Yeah. See, you asked for a Lusty Lisa. I have a friend named Lisa, and she was here last night," she gestured toward the bar. "I almost went and got her - to bring to your table, as a joke. You know, instead of the drink."

"No kidding," Jackson said coolly.

"Yep. But she would have killed me. Maybe I should have done it anyway…you really seemed like her type. She left right around the same time you did."

_Incredible…_Vicky was a potential goldmine of information. "Too bad," Jackson said with regret. "What makes you think I'd be her type? I was getting drinks dumped on me last night."

Vicky laughed, catching the twinkle in his eye. "Oh, that wasn't your fault." She thought for a moment. "I don't know exactly. You just seemed _right _for her. To me, anyway."

Jackson looked askance at Vicky, expressing playful interest. "And what does Lisa look like?" he inquired. _Could be a different Lisa, after all…_

Vicky grinned slyly. "I should have figured that's what you'd want to know. But she's very cute. Petite…a little shorter than me. Dark hair, pretty smile."

"Well. Thanks for the tip." Jackson smiled at her, his mind working rapidly. He did not want to walk away from this source now, but Vicky was done working; though she remained before him, reluctant to abandon him in his loneliness. "What about you, Vicky? What are you doing after work?"

"I was going to go home," she said, one corner of her lips curving up. "But I suppose I could volunteer an hour to salvaging a businessman's sanity. It's good karma, I'm sure."

"At this point, I'll accept charity," Jackson said with good-natured humility.

Twenty minutes later, Jackson leaned on the door of his Lexus, watching cars glide past on the street. He had hurriedly cleared the interior of his car of anything that might seem strange to Vicky. But first he had cracked the laptop open once more to see if Lisa was still on her couch. She was, and appeared to be talking on the phone. He turned the notebook off and covered it with a towel, then shoved the folders and other mess under the seat.

Jackson ran a hand over his jaw, remembering that he had not shaved in a day or two. He saw Vicky come out of Carmelita's, looking up and down the street, searching for him. He waved, and she ran lightly across the street. Still energetic after hours of waitressing; Jackson was impressed.

"Thanks for doing this," he said, genuinely appreciative. "I'm sure you're really tired."

"No problem." A few loose strands of her hair had escaped their clasp and were caught by the wind blowing off the ocean; Jackson liked the wildness of it. "Do you know where the public beach is?" Vicky asked. "We could go there, just hang out for a little while," she suggested.

Jackson nodded. "Sounds good. Do you mind if I drive? I've got some things in my car I really don't want to leave. Only if you're comfortable, Vicky," he stressed, seeing her hesitate.

Vicky looked into his eyes and self-consciously pulled a wisp of hair from her lip. "Sure."

During the short drive Jackson discovered that it felt abnormally cramped to have someone else in the car with him, after weeks of occupying it alone. He tried to balance the sense of intrusion with the possibilities that Vicky presented. Whatever she wanted, he was game; but at the moment he preferred conversation, in the hope of learning something more about Lisa.

"So, what is it that you do, John?" Vicky asked.

Jackson took his eyes from the road to meet hers. "If I tell you that, Vicky, people might die needlessly."

She laughed. "Okay. I get it. You don't want to talk about your work."

Jackson merely smiled.

"I understand, I really do. Can you tell me anything about yourself?" she asked hopefully.

Jackson turned into the public beach parking lot, pausing to let a kid carrying a boogie board pass in front of the car. "I'd much rather hear about you, Vicky," he said.

As he parked, Vicky reached into her oversized crochet handbag and extracted two beers, their necks clinking faintly. "There's no alcohol on the beach, but we'll be discreet," she said, watching his face carefully. "I get the feeling you could use one of these."

"You'd be right."

Walking across the sand toward the roaring surf with Vicky, Jackson felt ridiculously overdressed, but the clean wind was bracing. A large cluster of seagulls stood quietly on the sand, and they parted grudgingly, hooting and muttering in annoyance, as Jackson and Vicky passed amongst them. Jackson opened their beer, the bottles so chilled that they steamed. He took a generous swallow, closing his eyes in satisfaction. He felt the tension beginning to melt away, and for a moment he could have believed he truly was on vacation.

They walked parallel to the roiling waves pounding the beach, flecks of foam scudding past like bubble bath. It was dark along the shoreline, and Jackson could see only a few other people sprinkled in the area, darker silhouettes standing in the waves fishing, or sitting on the sand. A lighter flicked on briefly, revealing a couple lying on a towel, before a gust of wind blew the flame out.

A bittersweet pang pinched Jackson's gut without warning, in envy of the normalcy all around him. The silhouettes scattered across the beach had lives. Walking with a stranger, he himself was only pretending. He quickly stifled the regretful feelings with a gulp of beer and glanced at Vicky, whom he'd almost forgotten.

She spoke before he did. "You know, I have to be honest…" she began.

Jackson slowed his steps, turning to her.

"I'm really only here to test you," she revealed.

He stopped, straining to see her face in the gloom. "I'm not sure I like the sound of this."

"I know. See, the thing is…I'm separated. So going for a romantic walk on the beach with another man is the last thing I should be doing right now."

Jackson could not prevent a slow smile. "Is that what we're doing?"

Vicky looked down the shore and smiled coyly. "Well, I was enjoying thinking of it that way."

Jackson moved closer to her. Her features were appealing; even in the dark she was attractive in a noble, brooding way. He leaned to her, attentive to any sign of her drawing away. She stood her ground, her dark eyes meeting his, giving permission. He touched his lips to hers softly, and ran the back of his hand down the silky river of hair that flowed over her shoulder to her breast. "What test were you planning on putting me through?" he said quietly.

Vicky took his hand and led him away from the surf to where the sand was softer and drier. She knelt, pulling him down to her. "I told you before. I thought you were perfect for my friend." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed gentle lips to his, entreating him to kiss her more fully. "I wanted to make sure, before I tell her about you," she said breathlessly.

Jackson turned his face slightly away, averting the deeper kiss. He couldn't…it felt too personal. "What friend was that?" he urged softly, pressing his body against hers, feeling the warmth of her along with the coolness of the sand beneath his knees. _Say it…_

Vicky twined her fingers in his hair. "Lisa," she said, kissing his jaw.

"_Lisa…" _Jackson whispered, closing his eyes. His hands slid into her hair…Lisa's hair, soft in his fingers. Her voluptuous lips on his neck, gentle hands unbuttoning his shirt to explore beneath…

He found himself on his back, the sand molding to his body, and she hovered over him, her lips skimming his chest tenderly. Jackson moved against her, thrilled to feel her answer with a delicious undulation. But being trapped beneath her was too passive for him. Lisa had controlled him for so long; he wanted to control her. To bring her down like prey…

Seizing her around the waist, Jackson rolled over in the sand, taking her with him. Once on top of her, his forcefulness asserted itself, and he tasted and bit gently at the flesh of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of…_Lisa_…

Her thighs gripped his tense hips, stirring further passion in him, and at last his mouth found and explored hers; inhibitions gone. The thunderous surf, the wind, the woman beneath his body…all melding somehow into one rapturous sensation…_Leese… _

Suddenly his cellphone beeped insistently, hanging on his hip like a parasite. _You gotta be kidding me… _


	6. Chapter 6

Opening his eyes, Jackson was startled by the sight of Vicky underneath him in the dark. Realizing the extent of his fantasy, he started to push himself away in embarrassment, but she pulled him down again.

"Wait…I have to get this…" he gasped, feeling for the phone.

Instead of finding the cellphone, his hand closed over hers. She had reached the phone first, and gripped it tightly, unwilling to let him retrieve it. "Don't…" she pleaded, pulling him back to her.

The phone rang again, like an alarm clock breaking up an erotic dream, and Jackson felt his desire ebbing. "I need to answer this, Vicky," he said, prying at her fingers, trying not to hurt her.

"You said you wanted a break from all of that," she reminded him. Her other hand ventured low, stroking him through his clothing in an attempt to distract him from the call.

Annoyed that she thought he would be sidetracked so easily, he sat up, still atop her, and looked down at her hand clasped around the phone. It rang again, causing Jackson an unpleasant anxiety. "I _need_ to answer that," he repeated warningly.

He felt a tug at his waistband, and watched in astonishment as Vicky yanked the cellphone from his hip and threw it over his head, giggling. He heard it bleat as it flew through the air to land somewhere in the sand behind him.

Jackson's jaw tightened. "Very funny." He got to his feet and turned to search for the cell. When it rang again, he located it and picked it up, brushing sand from its buttons.

"Yeah," he answered, looking over his shoulder to see Vicky sitting up, staring at him in disbelief. He walked a few paces away.

"Hey. Thought you weren't gonna answer." It was technical support.

"Well, I did. What's up?" He began to button his shirt with one hand.

"You wanted to be alerted to any anomalous phone activity. A half hour ago, we had a long distance call from Dallas, Texas to your subject - it came in at 11:42 PM, for a duration of twelve minutes."

Jackson rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, eyes faraway. "Really." Lisa's mother lived in Texas, he knew. Why would she call her daughter so late at night?

"That's it. You said you wanted unusual calls."

"Yeah, I do. Thank you. Let me know if any more pop up." Jackson ended the call and stared at the black ocean for a few moments. With reluctance, he turned back towards Vicky. She was sitting on the sand, legs crossed.

The wind buffeted Jackson's back, tumbling his hair into his eyes as he returned the phone to its rightful place on his hip. "Vicky… I'm sorry about that. But my work is very important."

"What sort of job would call you at midnight on Sunday?" she said, unconvinced.

Jackson sighed. She didn't get it. The instant she had snatched the phone and thrown it, he had lost all respect for her. It was hard to imagine that only a few minutes ago he had been so passionate with her. The gossamer attraction he'd felt, so tenuous with a stranger, was gone; there was no reviving it now.

"Are you married?" Vicky asked.

Jackson fought his annoyance. She'd already admitted to being separated herself. "Yeah. To this job," he said bitterly. He supposed in some bizarre fashion, he was married to Lisa Reisert.

An uncomfortable silence hung over them as he remained standing before her. When she began to realize he was not going to sit down with her again, Vicky rose slowly, brushing sand from her body. "You know what? _I'm_ sorry. I didn't realize your call was that crucial. That was immature of me."

_Damn right it was. _Jackson, mollified by her apology, felt a spark of pity for her. She was lonely, just as he was; had tried to find solace with him for a night, and his job had ruined it. _Welcome to my world, Vicky…_

He could excuse her - he had been able to take his call - but he could not bring back the lustful feelings. If they'd ever been for her at all. Suddenly aware of who had inspired his unleashed ardor, he shoved the unnerving truth from his mind.

"It's okay," Jackson said, recovering his usual poise. "You were just trying to rescue me, right?"

"Right," said Vicky with a relieved smile.

"Well," Jackson looked at his watch, "I think we should call it a night. What do you think?"

They collected the beer bottles from where they'd dropped them in their enthusiasm, and began the walk back.

Nearing his car, Jackson slung an arm around Vicky's shoulders, drawing her head closer as they walked, and gave her a consoling kiss on the cheekbone. "Thank you for bringing me out here, Vicky."

"No problem. You seemed like you needed a little help tonight."

_Oh, I need help, all right. _

As he unlocked the doors to the Lexus, his eye was drawn to the car next to his. A silver Camry. _Can't be…_Heart beating a little faster, Jackson walked to the rear of the car to check the license plate. Dade County. E25-RPT. And the white decal of a tropical flower in the back window. The flower that had been his beacon for six weeks.

"Oh my God!" Vicky exclaimed. "That's Lisa's car!"

Jackson shot a glance at her, hoping she did not notice that he'd shown interest in the car before her words.

Vicky was bubbling over with excitement. "She must be on the beach too. Listen, let's go find her! I can introduce you two."

_What's wrong with her? _Jackson's eyes darted around the parking lot and beach, horrified that Lisa might be within shouting distance of Vicky. "No, don't worry about that," he protested.

"Come on!" Vicky pleaded. "This might be your only chance to meet her!"

Jackson smirked ironically. Vicky was convinced that he and Lisa were fated to meet; he had to give credit to her instinct. She happened to be right, but never would have imagined why. "No, really," he insisted. "I'm sure she's a nice person. But I'm just not interested." It was hard even to say the words.

"Are you sure?" Vicky looked disappointed.

Why was she so hell-bent on introducing him to Lisa? Jackson climbed into the car. "I'm sure," he said firmly. He needed to get rid of Vicky and get back to the beach quickly. Lisa was out. He hadn't been covering her, and she'd gotten away from him. Jackson almost felt sick.

Vicky got in the car reluctantly, still looking around for Lisa. Jackson backed the Lexus hurriedly, with a final glance at Lisa's car. He could hardly believe she was here; it was so out of character for her.

Grateful that the drive back to Carmelita's was short, Jackson said nothing along the way, his mind crammed with worry and speculation about Lisa's unsupervised outing. He was driving fast, and knew that Vicky was likely to think he was in a rush to rid himself of her company after their unsuccessful near-coupling, but he was past caring.

Jackson parked in front of the café, braking abruptly. Vicky smiled and gathered her purse slowly, evidently hoping for some sort of farewell conversation. Jackson was sorry that he had not been able to find out anything personal about Lisa from her, but the risks of associating with Vicky far outweighed the benefits. He was done with her.

"Well, if you have time, I hope you find your way back to this place," she said hopefully, indicating the café with a nod of her head. "I work almost every night."

Jackson smiled at her but kept his tone serious. "It would be nice. But I think I need to focus on my job while I'm here." He held her gaze intently so that she would not misunderstand.

Vicky began to rummage in her purse. "Let me give you my number. Hang on, I know I've got a pen in here somewhere…"

She was stalling. Jackson gritted his teeth in impatience. Lisa might move again, and he would lose her entirely if she did not go back home. His stomach clenched as Vicky continued to dig and paw through the contents of her overlarge bag, finding nothing.

_Come on, come on…_Jackson fidgeted in his seat, trying not to look at Vicky, whose ineffectual search was agonizing. Finally, he could stand it no longer. Leaning across her, he tore open the glove compartment and grabbed a pen from inside. "Here," he said, handing it to her along with the receipt from the car rental place. He struggled to keep his voice level. "Write it on this."

Vicky wrote out her number and gave it to him, meeting his eyes. "My cell is always on."

"Thanks," Jackson said, forcing another smile. "But I can't promise I'll be able to call."

"I know." Acceptance already in her voice. She got out and closed the door.

Jackson put the Lexus in motion, turning it around. "Sorry, Vicky," he said, giving her a parting glance in his rearview mirror. He was furious at himself for his amateurish faltering tonight. There would be no more attempts at relaxation or leisure from him, no more self-indulgent distractions.

Speeding back to the public beach, Jackson leaned forward in his seat, as if that would make the Lexus go faster. "Don't go anywhere, Leese. Don't move…" he pleaded, his heart racing in anxiety.

Why had she left her home so late? It seemed he could not have an hour's free time to himself, as if she were deliberately tormenting him; setting him up for a fall each time he let his guard down. "You're killing me, Leese. You know that?"

Lisa had been on the beach with him. Had he seen her and not realized it? Everyone had been a faceless silhouette in the dark, there was no way to be sure. _Did she see me_? Had she been in his vicinity, Lisa might have noticed him crawling all over Vicky in the sand. His face burned at the idea.

Jackson reached the public beach again, and saw with vast relief that Lisa's car was still there. "Good girl," he whispered. Parking as far from it as possible, he reached behind his seat and yanked the gym bag out. He paused for a moment. Should he simply wait here, until she returned to her car? That would be easiest.

But Jackson wanted to stay as close as possible to Lisa. He did not know if she was alone or with someone on the dark beach, and he was uncomfortable not knowing her status. Sitting in the car and helplessly watching for her return did not appeal to him. He pulled a pair of shorts and his running shoes from the bag.

He changed in the front seat, stripping off his shirt and pants, and tugging on the shorts and sneakers - an exercise in agility he had not performed since high school. Getting out of the car, he felt almost naked, but at least he blended in with the other late-night beachgoers. And now he could run.

Jackson set off at a jog. Passing by her car, he trailed his fingers across its warm, glossy surface. On the beach, he ran through the same assembly of seagulls, scattering them to flight with raucous cries and a rain of shit that he miraculously avoided, swearing in disgust. Once clear of the birds, he realized the daunting task he had set for himself. Finding Lisa on this beach was going to be difficult. The moon was the merest sliver in the sky; people were the vaguest forms against the sand.

_Which way to go? Left or right? _It was the only choice to be made, and if he decided wrong, he would have to run back the other way to find her. He chose left, the same direction he had walked with Vicky.

Jackson jogged along the shore, searching each person he passed in the dark, quickly studying their height, hair and walk. It felt good to run, he was enjoying the exertion. Lisa was out here somewhere, he would find her, and she would not be able to see him well enough to identify him. He would redeem himself for his earlier carelessness. Determined, he jogged at a steady pace, observing each person on the beach.

The waves pounded the shore with an angry force that he could feel through the soles of his shoes. He ran past a couple of surfers. They waded out into the crashing froth with delighted yells of bravado. Jackson jogged along, his muscles loosening up satisfyingly.

He neared an old man fishing, and detoured around the invisible fishing line in a wide arc, wondering what the man could possibly catch in the roiling surf. He passed two middle-aged women carrying their shoes, and responded to their polite greeting in kind.

Reaching a long expanse of beach without a soul upon it, he ran faster. He doubted Lisa would have gone this far from her car. There was no one remotely resembling her on this side of the beach.

Jackson slowed. "Goddamn it," he cursed. He had run at least a mile, and found no sign of her. He had chosen the wrong direction. Shaking damp hair from his forehead, he turned around and set off back toward his starting point, at a faster run than before.

This was insane. He should have stayed in the car. What had made him think he could find her on this midnight beach, or that he should even try? He was making one mistake after another, like cascading dominoes. Jackson ran faster, unease gnawing at his gut. When he had first run out onto the beach, he had expected to have Lisa in his sights again within minutes. But she was not here.

He ran faster.

Dashing past the surfers again, he heard them whoop and laugh. "Hurry!" one howled mockingly from the waves.

Jackson ran on. He neared the place where he had started, and strained his eyes to see what cars remained in the parking lot. _Oh, no. No, no…_

Lisa's car was gone.

Jackson broke into a dead run. He cut diagonally across the beach to shorten the distance and hurdled the cement wall between the beach and the parking lot. He sprinted across the asphalt to his vehicle and jumped in, after a short scrabble at the door with nervous hands. Collapsing into the seat, he started the car, his breath coming in rapid gasps. His sweaty hand seized the shifter.

Surely Lisa had gone home. It was the only place he knew to look for her. Jackson pulled onto the boulevard and headed toward her condo. He poked a vent so that the air conditioning was directed onto his overheated torso, and tried to calm his panting exhalations. His calves burned from his sprint over the deep sand, but he felt numb inside as he drove, unwilling to acknowledge the terrible truth that faced him.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter and shook his head at himself in sickened self-loathing. Only a few times in his career had he ever lost his subject. But the more intensive the surveillance, the harder it became to maintain the target's position with any kind of consistency, without rotating shifts to do so. He was alone, and sustaining awareness of Lisa's whereabouts every second was impossible. And yet he hated himself for not accomplishing it.

Jackson turned onto Lisa's street, focusing intently on the area in front of her condo. Her parking space was empty. He cursed in anguished concern as he passed by, unable to believe his eyes. She was gone. For the first time in six weeks, he did not know where Lisa Reisert was.

_I lost her._


	7. Chapter 7

In stunned silence, Jackson parked in his usual spot across from Lisa's condo, her vacant parking space mocking him. It was incredible that she had left her home at this hour. _Why? _

His thoughts drifted back to the phone call he'd received, informing him that Lisa had been contacted by someone in Dallas - probably her mother - a short time before she had left the condo. It wasn't a stretch to think these events were tied together. Had Lisa gotten some sort of upsetting news?

_I lost her. _

He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. _She'll come back. She always does. _But still his stomach twisted. One thing was certain, he would make damn sure she would not get away from him again. The empty parking space in front of her condo was punishment for his inattention.

_What now? _He could wait here for her return, or drive the streets of greater Miami in a pointless search. Jackson did not want to continue making mistakes, most of which had resulted from his unwillingness to hold still and wait. Such restless anxiety in himself was unheard of.

_Just wait. She'll come back. She'll come back to me. Just wait…_

As he repeated this refrain mentally, he began to relax. The car's engine thrummed quietly. Minutes passed. Cooled now, Jackson directed the air conditioning away from his shirtless body; sucked in a deep, calming breath. Lisa would come home any time now.

_Any time now…_

A police cruiser slunk by. The brake lights lit up as it slowed, and Jackson knew he was being observed by the officer. Any cop would take an interest in a man sitting in a parked car past midnight.

"Shit," Jackson's hand dropped to the shifter, but he held his ground. If he were to move now, that would only further provoke the officer's suspicions.

The bright red of the cruiser's brake lights dimmed again as the cop moved on, turning back onto the boulevard. But Jackson knew he had been noticed. The cop would be back, and if he was still here, he would be questioned. _This just figures._ He had finally gotten himself composed enough to sit tight and wait for Lisa, and now he would have to give up his position. But it was not worth the risk to remain - there would be no explanation that would satisfy the officer.

Jackson waited for a minute, then pulled out of his spot and back onto the road. His head had begun to ache and pound with tension. Since he could no longer remain in place near Lisa's condo, he was now limited to driving around in hopes of passing her somewhere, or watching via laptop for her return home, neither of which suited him.

He stomped the gas angrily, making the Lexus fishtail for a moment. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of his own eyes, hollow and haunted in the shadows beneath his damp hair. The vision disturbed him. He had lost weight on this assignment, he could see it. But that was not half as distressing as his growing lack of discipline, and the painful truth was that he was not sure he trusted himself to make the right choices any longer.

Only the night before, he had identified this problem. And for the last time, he had almost made a correct decision - to remove himself from the job. And he should have. He had so thoroughly immersed himself in Lisa's life that he could not imagine moving on to the next job; it was a horrifying affliction that had crept up on him and now held him in a stranglehold. _What have I done to myself? _

Heat lightning flashed silently overhead as Jackson drove, inspecting every car he passed in desperate hope of spotting Lisa's Camry. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning now, and Jackson could not imagine what Lisa could be doing after leaving the beach, but he knew he would never find her this way. The only viable option now was to go back to his hotel room, set up the laptop and watch for her to come home.

Keeping his eyes on the road, Jackson brushed away the beach sand on the passenger seat - remnants of Vicky's presence. Then with one hand he reached into the back seat and retrieved the laptop from beneath the towel, where he'd hidden it earlier, and restored it to its place of honor beside him. "Come back to me, Leese."

He never saw it coming.

There was a rushing, roaring sound in his head, and Jackson opened uncomprehending eyes…a terrifying burning in his lungs seized him, and he realized he could not draw a breath. In agony, he crumpled forward in his seat, and with an effort of sheer will he pulled air into his body with a long excruciating gasp. He hung onto the steering wheel, and drew a second, rending breath that seemed to take forever.

_Okay. I've been in an accident. _His breathing, though still painful, was coming a little easier, but a lightheadedness was enclosing him softly. Turning his head against the steering wheel, he tried to see outside of his vehicle. Someone had run up to his window and was knocking on the glass rapidly.

Jackson made a supreme effort to feel his way to the button that lowered the window. Warm air rushed in, and Jackson struggled to hold on to consciousness.

"Oh my God. Are you okay?" said a concerned voice.

Jackson nodded, still clinging to the steering wheel, unable to speak. Even through his suffering he noticed that there was no airbag before him - it had not deployed. _World class safety, my ass… _Jackson thought bitterly, snarling in pain.

A hand reached in through the window and rested on his back. "Are you all right? Can you talk?"

Grimacing and feeling tears of pain rolling down the sides of his face, Jackson forced himself to sit back in his seat. "I'm okay," he rasped.

_How bad is this? _Looking around, he saw that he had been struck in the middle of an intersection and spun around. The crumpled front fender of the Lexus bulged upward, but the damage was much less than he expected. The other car involved sat nearby, its grill smashed, fluids trickling over the asphalt like blood. A teenage girl sat crying on the curb, unhurt.

"She ran the red light," the person said to him through his window. "It wasn't your fault."

"Thank God for that," Jackson said hoarsely, glancing at the speaker. Witnessing his misery was a young woman with long, strawberry-blonde hair and large, worried eyes.

This was a very bad development. Now there would be police on the way, and he would have to give his information to them. He had a solid alias, but it would be shitty luck to have it on record with the police department in Miami for a traffic accident.

Leese…where was Leese?

The impact had sent the laptop to the floor of the car. Jackson reached for it, pulling it back up onto the seat and opening it. It appeared undamaged.

"Oh, sir, please don't worry about your things. You should sit still until the paramedics get here," the young woman pleaded.

Jackson, aggravated by his pain, snapped, "I'm fine. I just had the wind knocked out of me." He regretted his words as the woman backed a step away from his car, wringing her hands. "I'm sorry," Jackson said, feeling a faintness coming over him again. "I'm sorry… but I'm okay." His own voice seemed to be coming from far away. _Don't pass out…don't pass out…_

_Sirens…_

Jackson opened his eyes to a uniformed man leaning in his window - a young paramedic who was checking his pulse at the wrist.

"Can you tell me your name?" the man asked, in a deadpan, uninterested voice.

Jackson pulled his arm away, out of the paramedic's grip. "Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Jackson Rippner."

"Really," the paramedic said doubtfully. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yeah. Miami." The guy already rubbed Jackson the wrong way. He grasped the door handle and started to push outward, but the paramedic obstructed him.

"Stay still, please. Do you know what time it is? Or what day of the week?"

Jackson looked at the clock on his console. "Looks like 1:08 A.M. to me," he said sardonically.

"Are you allergic to any medications?"

"No," Jackson said. "Now, I would like to get out of this car, if you don't mind."

The young man looked into the icy blue of Jackson's eyes, seeing the lucid composure there. "Suit yourself." He stepped back.

Jackson pushed the door open and stood, fighting another rush of dizziness, which passed quickly.

"Are you feeling pain anywhere?" The paramedic resumed his interrogation.

Walking to the front end of the Lexus, Jackson saw that the wheel was undamaged. The car was still drivable, but he would have to call the rental company first thing in the morning and get a replacement vehicle.

"No," he answered. In all honesty, he felt fine now.

"Could you stand still please, sir? I need to get your vitals."

Jackson ignored him, his eyes falling on the driver of the other car. The girl was being consoled by the strawberry-blonde woman. He walked over to them, the paramedic trailing behind doggedly.

The girl was still crying, and drew back as Jackson approached, as if expecting him to strike her.

"I'm so sorry," the girl wept. "I wasn't paying attention. Oh my God, your car…" she wailed at the damage to the Lexus.

"Don't worry about that," Jackson said. "It's only a rental. I won't take it personally," he smiled gently.

Relieved, the girl broke into hysterical sobbing. "I thought I killed someone! You weren't moving."

Jackson almost laughed at her overreaction. "I'm okay, I promise. Just lost my breath for a minute. I probably needed some sense knocked into me anyway." He smiled at the redheaded woman. She returned the smile. Jackson thought she seemed familiar, but was not sure why.

"Sir, I need you to step over to the ambulance," the paramedic said from behind him.

Jackson brushed past him and headed back to his car. The headlight was shattered, but he was fairly certain he would be able to drive the car from the scene. Though it was halted against the curb where it had rolled after the collision, it was still running.

"Are you refusing medical treatment, sir?" the paramedic's voice was tired.

"Yes. I am," Jackson said. "There's nothing wrong with me." He opened the door of the car and waited.

The man sighed. "Then I have to advise you of the possible consequences of refusing medical aid. And you'll need to sign the RMA form."

"Let's do that, then," Jackson said, nodding and gesturing in a get-on-with-it manner. "I don't plan on suing anyone." He fervently hoped that he had not sustained some sort of injury he could not feel, but he would have to take his chances. Allowing himself half a day in a hospital - hours when he would not be able to do his job - was not something he was willing to do.

Jackson only half-listened as the paramedic went through the formalities of discharging him. He signed the forms with some unease, releasing his information, then repeated this with a police officer. People who had gathered on the sidewalks to watch the scene began to drift away as they realized there was no blood or serious injuries involved, and Jackson's impatience to be on his own way grew.

Permitted at last to leave, he closed himself once more into the cool luxury of his vehicle. _Twenty-five hundred dollars a week, and the airbag doesn't work, _Jackson thought cynically. He backed off the curb, carefully avoiding the tow truck that had arrived to remove the other car.

As he drove away from the scene, he repositioned the laptop on the passenger seat and turned it on. _Back to business. _

At the first sight of an empty parking space, Jackson pulled into it, unable to wait until he got to his hotel. He logged on, thankful that the laptop was no worse for wear after the accident. His mouth was dry as he waited for the image to load. He did not think he could take it if Lisa had not come home yet; he'd been through all he could handle for one night.

Lisa was on her sofa, right where she should have been. Safe.

Seeing her at last, Jackson covered his eyes with a trembling hand for a moment, consumed by relief. And something more, something powerful, almost painful in its intensity. He did not even know what it was.

An old black and white movie flickered on her television screen. Lisa watched unmoving, like a still life.

Jackson reached out to trace her image with his fingertips, outlining her graceful limbs. It was hard to believe he would soon meet this woman who controlled his every move like an uncaring, demented puppeteer. Hatred and attraction warred within Jackson as his finger teased along the smooth screen. There was no way yet to know where he would meet Lisa. He wondered if he would be able to touch her. Maybe, just maybe, she would see past the circumstances of their encounter…and see _him_.


	8. Chapter 8

Pulling off his shirt in front of the mirror, Jackson inspected the bruises on his chest almost as an afterthought. It had been several days since his car accident, and the marks were fading fast. No lasting damage. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked around his hotel room, sick of the sight of it

The last few days had been mercifully uneventful with Lisa. Since her brief disappearing act Sunday night, she had done nothing more than go to work and straight home each day. On Tuesday, Jackson found that she had made reservations for a flight to Dallas - bereavement fare - for this Friday morning, with a flight home to Miami late that night. Lisa apparently had a profound sense of professionalism, taking care that she would only miss one day of work for the funeral, and Jackson respected this.

But the Friday jaunt to Dallas presented a complication for him. The latest information was that Keefe's long-delayed tour to Miami would take place on Saturday; this impending funeral was less than twenty-four hours before Keefe's trip. Things were about to get hectic; time could be tight if schedules changed on either end.

His bags were packed and waiting by the door, ready to go, with clothes appropriate for a memorial service within. Just in case he could get that close…or needed to.

Jackson turned off the light in his room, lay back and turned his head to watch Lisa on the laptop, which was open on the bed beside him. She moved about her living room, picking up things and straightening the already immaculate condo. The clock in the corner of his screen said 2:10 AM. Jackson wished she would go to bed so that he could do the same.

Lisa went into the kitchen and scrutinized her countertops, one hand resting on her hip.

"It's fine, Leese," Jackson reassured her, rubbing his eyes. "You have the cleanest condo in Miami." The computer screen was the only source of light in his room, illuminating the walls with a ghostly hue. Sliding up on the bed, Jackson sank his head onto the pillow and dragged the laptop closer.

Lisa pulled a bottle of cleaner and a roll of paper towels from beneath her kitchen sink. Jackson groaned. His eyes began to close of their own accord. He squinted once more at the screen to see Lisa spray the cleaner over her spotless countertop before his eyes closed again; lulled by the low whirring from within his laptop, he was overtaken by sleep almost instantly.

Jackson woke, opening heavy eyelids. The computer's screensaver had taken over. Not even bothering to pick his head up from the pillow, he inhaled lethargically and tapped a key. He'd slept for an hour, but he saw with amazement that Lisa was still in her kitchen. "Jesus, Leese," Jackson yawned.

Now she was cooking. Jackson watched Lisa grease a small frying pan with a stick of butter. Hungry, he almost imagined he could smell it, hear it begin to sizzle. She cracked an egg into a bowl and beat it with a fork, then poured it into the pan.

"Scrambled eggs?" Jackson snorted derisive laughter. The smile faded from his face. The tiny frying pan…it was the smallest he'd ever seen, not much bigger than a CD - a utensil that only the lonely would possess. Someone who never expected to cook for two.

Jackson rolled onto his back, head turned to watch Lisa fuss over her egg. He could not imagine her preparing breakfast for someone who'd stayed overnight. When was the last time she'd had a lover? Something had gone wrong with Lisa, and her life was constructed around her seclusion. It was senseless.

Lisa served herself, washing the pan out fastidiously before she sat down on her couch to eat. Jackson ran his fingers idly across the keyboard, pondering his link to Lisa. Accustomed to watching her in her home now, his initial feelings of guilt had disappeared. In its place was an emerging sense of familiarity and a feeling of connection; while he might disdain Lisa for her lonely lifestyle, his own was not much different.

Watching Lisa eat her scrambled eggs in the orderly condo, Jackson envied her routines and all she took for granted. Steady, legal employment. A family. Safety. Friends, even though some were friends like Vicky, willing to screw a guy before passing him on to her. He smirked.

But even with all of this, Lisa still shut herself off from the world, and it was her choice to do so that he did not understand. She was not alone by circumstance, as he was.

After she had finished eating, Lisa went back into the kitchen and put the plate in the dishwasher. Then finally shut off the lights in her kitchen, darkening Jackson's computer screen and his hotel room. How strange that she could literally turn out the lights on him from two miles away. Faintly he saw her form move through the darkness toward her bedroom.

Jackson sighed and turned off the laptop. He put an arm over his face. _If I still have my sanity when this is over, it'll be a fucking miracle… _

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Outside his airplane window lay the Gulf of Mexico far below, the blue water blending seamlessly with the horizon. Jackson adjusted the volume on his iPod. He wasn't really in the mood to listen to music, but headphones were the best deterrent against unwanted conversation from others. His seatmate was a leathery, white-haired man who reeked of cherry pipe smoke and possessed a loud, drawling voice that drew glances from other passengers. Lisa was a mere sixteen seats in front of Jackson, and he could not afford any undue attention.

He drew the wallet from his pocket and held it in both hands, studying it as though it were a priceless artifact. Joe Reisert's wallet. Only that morning he had received it, his associate meeting him at the airport to deliver it into his hands before he boarded the flight to Dallas. The initials on the front - JR- struck him as a lucky break. Jackson was well aware that he and Lisa's father shared these initials, but for them to be monogrammed on this wallet was a bonus that could help him later.

Turning slightly away from the man next to him, he opened the wallet and busied himself organizing his driver's license and credit cards within the proper slots. _Perfect_. As if it were his own. But Lisa would know better. He flipped the plastic photo holder open. Lisa's picture smiled up at him. _Daddy's little girl. _Jackson brought it closer to his face for a thorough inspection.

The picture was at least ten years old, and showed a smiling Lisa of high school age. Her hair was pulled sleekly back, and she wore what looked to Jackson like the sort of glittery but clinging outfit worn by ice skaters. A ribbon was draped around her neck. He furrowed his brows in puzzlement. Ice skating did not seem an ordinary activity for a girl who grew up in Miami. _Gymnast, maybe? _The idea of her potential flexibility sent his blood racing, and he cleared his throat and flipped to the next picture.

It was recent. A black and white portrait of Lisa that looked as if it may have been taken for her position as manager of the Lux Atlantic. Professionally lit and composed, the photo showed a classy, capable woman with a direct but friendly gaze. The barest hint of a smile dimpled one flawless, porcelain cheek. The style of it brought to Jackson's mind the glamorous elegance of early Hollywood portraits. Recalling her fondness for classic movies, he realized that perhaps she had been aiming for precisely that look. And with good judgment - it was beautiful.

He wanted it. But he might not have time to extract it if he had to quickly ditch the wallet at some later time. Removing the photograph from its plastic sleeve within the wallet, Jackson slipped it into his jacket breast pocket. He smoothed his hand over it.

There were only two more pictures, one of a woman he assumed was Lisa's mother, and another of a dog. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson became aware that the man next to him was staring at the pictures. He looked around to see the man break into a gap-toothed jack o' lantern grin.

"Was that your sweetheart in that picture?" the man wheezed loudly. His remaining teeth were brown.

Jackson pulled the headphones from his ears. "What?" He knew full well what the man had said, and also that people did not like repeating themselves. If Jackson could make the old fart work for the conversation, he might decide it wasn't worth the effort.

"That picture you just took outta your wallet, son. The one you put in your pocket. Is she your lady friend?"

Jackson tried not to inhale as the old man's rancid breath wafted over him. Involuntarily he turned away to obtain cleaner air before answering. "Um, yeah," he said with a courteous nod, bravely facing the man again.

The man nodded sagely, as if pleased at his own powers of observation. "Here now, let me tell you what," he began. "She looks just like my second wife. That's the sort of young lady you ought to think about marrying. I know good stock when I see it."

_Good stock. _Jackson struggled to keep a straight face. "Well, I just might do that, sir. Thank you." Finishing with a smile, he reached for his headphones again. The man nodded, satisfied, and turned back to his magazine.

The late morning sun shone on the gulf thousands of feet beneath the aircraft. Tonight as Jackson returned on the red eye, he would be unable to see it. He contemplated his words to the old man. For a moment, he had been able to feign a relationship with Lisa; live a piece of a life that did not exist.

What if the Keefe job were called off? Highly unlikely, he knew. But if it were…Jackson's eyes softened as he gazed out the window. If it were cancelled, or the assassination took place in another city, Lisa Reisert would become a nonentity, and he would be free to approach her for his own reasons. The realization filled him with anxiety, since his professionalism had been the last barrier between Lisa and himself. Without it, he would scarcely know who he was.

_Let's not go there, _Jackson counseled himself. _The job won't be cancelled. You know that. Even if it is, you're going to stay the hell away from Lisa. Deal? _

Making this pact with himself, he relaxed. Now more than ever, he needed to focus on the job. Besides, Lisa would probably disappoint him in some way, or possibly every way, when he did meet her. Eight weeks of surveillance had allowed Jackson to build up a persona for Lisa in his mind that could be jarringly inaccurate. He knew it would be for the best if he were let down by Lisa when he met her.

It would release him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From his vantage point across the road, Jackson sat in the car and watched mourners entering the funeral chapel for Henrietta Rowe's services. Lisa had not yet arrived. She would probably be riding with her mother, since she had taken a cab to her mother's house from the airport. Jackson unwrapped his sub and began to eat, wanting to get the meal out of the way. _Eating, sleeping…that shit gets old. _He hated interrupting his work for such primitive bodily requirements.

The Texas sun seared the landscape, and the mourners moved slowly under its oppressive heat toward the small white building. They were fifteen miles outside Dallas, and there was no cemetery at this site, so unless Grandma had been cremated, a procession would follow the services. Tearing open the little bag of chips that came with the sub, Jackson observed a white SUV pulling into the parking lot. A funeral parlor worker directed it toward the area just behind the hearse - this was immediate family. Jackson sat up straighter.

Lisa emerged from the driver's side, wearing a navy skirt and jacket, and sunglasses. Her hair looked redder in the sunlight. With her was another woman; Lisa's mother was petite, but with blonde, bobbed hair. Jackson's eyes tracked Lisa until she entered the glass double doors and disappeared.

He continued eating and counting cars as they filled the parking lot, and people as they went inside. If there were an abundance of people, he might be able to blend in amongst them. But it was almost three o'clock, time for services to begin; Jackson knew sixty-seven people were inside - not enough for him to go unnoticed.

Not that strangers did not show up at funerals. Jackson recalled that at his mother's funeral, there had been two women who had shown up together that no one knew. There were people in the world who, for whatever reason, enjoyed attending memorial services.

His cellphone rang, cutting into his indecision. Looking at the display, he saw that it was the director of the entire operation - someone he rarely heard from unless major changes were in the works. "Hey," Jackson said, a note of wariness in his voice.

"Rippner? Good to hear your voice. How are things in Dallas?"

"Just fine. I'm waiting on this funeral service at the moment," Jackson said. "What's been changed?"

A low laugh. "You know I don't call unless there's an alteration."

"Yeah," Jackson said, curbing his impatience. "So what is it?"

"We need you to modify your, ah, closure with your subject. After Keefe is done. We've decided it's too big a risk." There was a heavy pause. "You know what to do."

Jackson froze, astonished into speechlessness. He was not surprised that they had decided Lisa should be killed, but it was a shock that they had decided _now_, after eight weeks. But he knew better than to argue the point. "Sure," he said quietly.

"We don't care how it gets done. Use your own judgment."

"Mm-hm." Jackson shoved away the bag of chips and the rest of his sub. He stared sightlessly at the funeral parlor.

"Look, I know it's not your forte, Rippner. But you're the man on the job, and you're the one who'll be in contact with her," his superior said, as if Jackson had resisted the directive.

"So, then, are we still using Joe Reisert? Or do we not even need him now?" Jackson asked, already thinking of how he might need to reword his verbal threat to Lisa.

"Still using Reisert. We think, based on what you told us, that Lisa will respond better to a threat to a loved one than to herself. Everything stays the same. Only the wrap-up changes."

"Unh. Okay," Jackson muttered, not caring that he sounded like a malcontent.

"We trust you, Rippner." The man's voice held a warning note.

"Thank you. Keep me updated," said Jackson. He felt sick.

After the call ended, Jackson groaned in pained frustration, and cursed loudly at the ceiling of his car, still gripping the phone in his clenched fist. He should never have allowed himself to become fixated on Lisa. _This_ was why.


	9. Chapter 9

A dead armadillo rested on the side of the road, baking to paper mache stiffness in the heat. Jackson had plenty of time to study it as his car crept past, tagged onto the end of Grandma Henrietta's funeral procession. His elbow rested on the car's doorframe; his tented fingers propping his head.

He had never imagined a procession could take so long. But the math was simple - a caravan of cars idling along a two-lane highway at ten miles per hour, ten miles from the funeral home to the cemetery out in the boonies… equaled one hour of sitting in the car inching past road kill and keeping an eye on the temperature gauge. _If I got out and ran beside the car, I'd get there faster_.

Jackson glanced behind him at the back-up of cars not involved in the funeral, and pitied the drivers. They had places to go, and there was no way around the procession. Farther back, he could see a fearsome build-up of storm clouds on the horizon; the tremendous heat had cooked up something wickedly dark and powerful that he would confront when he returned to the city.

Eyes forward again, Jackson saw that at last the motorcade had reached its destination. Led by the hearse, each car in the procession turned off the road one by one, dust billowing up dryly on all sides. From his position at the end of the line, Jackson could just make out the gray humps of tombstones and brightly colored spots of fake flowers that marked the cemetery. The cars streamed respectfully into the grounds, turned left, and parked where directed by funeral personnel.

Jackson entered the cemetery last. He turned right, slipping away from the other cars, and steered along the dirt lane that wound gently between the graves until he was on the other side of the park from the burial service. When he had found a suitable vantage point beneath a large oak tree, he stopped the car. Satisfied with the cushion of distance, he opened the door and got out.

Hands in pockets, he strolled a few paces towards a substantial headstone, green with mold from years of being under the massive oak. Standing with his head lowered, Jackson appeared to be reflecting on a departed loved one, but his eyes peered over his sunglasses to the scene on the other side of the cemetery, where a green canopy shaded the interment site.

Beneath the canopy, Lisa took her seat beside her mother and clutched her hand. The mourners assembled around the casket, the highly polished wood and brass container a morbid centerpiece of their attention. Lisa's mother… Jackson considered the pitiless irony: the woman would bury a mother and a daughter in the space of a week. Life was cruel that way.

Jackson tore his gaze from the two women.

He could not talk to Lisa any longer. All summer he had cajoled her, scolded her, laughed at her, sometimes even cursed at her. He knew this had evolved as a defense against the tedium and exhausting routine, but there had always been a feeling of connection, that in some way Lisa was part of it.

But he'd gotten the call. And his words to her had simply dried up.

"_We've decided it's too big a risk…You know what to do…"_

Crouching, he began to clear leaves and dirt from another marker in the grass nearby. Jackson had always been aware of his capacity to numb himself; he considered it a form of discipline that was an absolute requirement in his chosen line of work. Armor against remorse, it was a sensation of simply turning himself off, protection he could call upon at will. It had never failed, never faltered. But now he questioned his ability to generate that icy control and sustain it for the duration of tonight's events. _How am I going to do this? _

Closing his eyes, Jackson remained crouched before the marker, head lowered, listening to himself breathe. Everything he had endured for Lisa since the job began flashed through his mind as a series of lonesome memories… In Carmelita's, seeing Lisa's casual smile as she ordered a Sea Breeze. Jumping into the Lexus and speeding after Asshole to keep him away from Lisa. Hours spent lying in bed with Lisa, late at night… her image on his laptop screen. Running in panic on the beach, searching for her. Empty recollections that he could never reminisce over with anyone, or laugh about with someone. They were his, and his alone.

Meaningless.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind rose up, making the trees throughout the park flash the undersides of their leaves, and rattling the limbs of the oak over Jackson. He stood, squaring his shoulders, and faced the burial.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The storm held off until nightfall. The dark mass of gargantuan proportions hovered close to the horizon until, just as the sun set, the skies let loose a furious torrent over the city that would continue throughout the night.

Merging onto the highway, Jackson checked to make sure he was in the proper lane, the car's wipers slapping a frantic tempo on the windshield. _Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport- 4 Miles. _He had left Lisa at her mother's house. It was hours before their flight, and Jackson planned to kill time at the airport until Lisa showed up. Plus, he had the rental car to return.

Weather alerts on his radio informed him of a tornado watch for the area until midnight. Jackson carefully followed the banked curve of a high overpass and slowed down at the sight of brake lights; the drivers ahead losing their nerve in the hammering rain.

His phone beeped. Not wanting to take his eyes from the dangerous road, Jackson answered without looking at the ID window. "Yeah."

"Rippner. Got some more changes in the works. Think you can handle it?"

Jackson raised weary eyebrows. "You're actually asking me that?" He hoped it came off as self-assured cockiness. In reality he was dead tired of changes, and had to suppress the urge to toss the phone out the window onto the rainy highway.

A laugh filtered through some momentary static. "Your patience is getting to be legendary. What we've got here is a change of schedule. Got lucky and intercepted an e-mail. Keefe's arrival in Miami has been pushed back twelve hours, so he's going to check in at the Lux at 5:30 _AM _tomorrow, not PM."

In utter defeat, Jackson let the hand holding the cellphone fall onto the seat beside him for a moment. Bringing it back to his ear, he said, "Well, good thing you found that out." He paused, quickly calculating the hours. "But there's a problem with that." He shook his head, wanting to laugh at the impracticality. "We'll be _on the plane _at 5:30 AM."

This was met with silence from the other end. Jackson almost checked to see if he'd lost the call, when the other man spoke at last. "Just get it done. This is it."

Jackson jerked the wheel; he'd allowed the car to drift over the line in his distraction. Rage suffused him, making his jaw ache and his temples pound. _Just get it done. _Easy for this fucker to say, safely away from the job itself. _How? How am I going to get it done? _he wanted to roar into the phone. _Did you forget you wanted me to "dispose" of the subject afterwards? _There were a few minor clicks in his ear, and he realized the call had already been ended.

It was funny, really, the whole thing. Jackson threw his head back and laughed, resigning himself to the lunacy that had once been a well-thought out plan. There was no back-up, no second chance; to go ahead with the operation under these conditions was sheer insanity.

But he'd gotten his orders. If he refused; if the plane landed and Keefe occupied his usual room at the Lux Atlantic, Jackson would be quietly killed soon after. His death would inspire a short story of little interest in the Miami Herald… _Businessman Shot in Front Seat of Vehicle_… or _Body Found in Biscayne Bay_…or simply, _Man Found Dead_. In his line of work, you did not fail and live.

Considering these scenarios, Jackson picked up his cellphone again. There were major issues that needed addressed immediately.

"Yo," the tech said.

"Hey. I need your help. Quick," Jackson said, taking a sip from his coke, which had gone flat and warm hours before. It tasted terrible, but his mouth was dry. His life was in this guy's hands.

"Yeah? What do you need?"

"I have a real problem. This deal's gonna be made tonight. On the plane."

"Yeah? And… ?"

Jackson wanted to explode, but kept his tone even. "I'm sitting in seat 2C. Lisa's in 15E. I need you to change that; we need two seats together."

"Oh. Yeah, I see your problem," the tech said.

"Is it doable?" Jackson asked, almost pleading.

"Probably. I'll get on it right away."

"Wait, one more thing," Jackson said quickly. "Tell support in Miami that they need to get the camera out of the subject's condo _tonight_. Absolutely has to be done."

"Gotcha."

"Let me know about those seats the second you find out," Jackson said urgently. He released the phone, his lightly sweating palm sliding over it.

Taking in a deep breath, he changed lanes, the exit to the airport looming ahead. He could - no, _would_ - pull this off. It was a tall order, but he had never failed at a job, and his agile mind began to find the advantages to the new situation.

There were negative aspects of course, one of which was the very public nature of it, and the risk of Lisa creating a commotion. That would land the plane early, and all would be lost. But Jackson could win her trust before he threatened her; in effect play both roles of a good-cop/bad-cop team himself, an approach that would be disorientating to Lisa and increase the prospect of her compliance. This idea excited him.

Entering the road that led to the airport, Jackson allowed himself to admit what was, to him, the major benefit of the new timetable. That he might not have to kill Lisa… might not be _able_ to, given the circumstances. However, if she did her part in his mission successfully and he allowed her to walk away, he would not have followed the plan to the letter. That sort of overt defiance would imperil him with his employers.

_Is she worth it?_

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Starbucks was crowded as usual. Finishing his bagel, Jackson folded the newspaper on the small table and glanced around the room full of people, invigorated by the knowledge that, for the first time, he did not have to hide himself from Lisa. Thinking that she might desire a shot of caffeine before their late flight, Jackson had situated himself in the coffee shop as openly as possible. If she was not in the airport yet, she soon would be; the clock on the wall above the menu board announced it was two minutes after midnight, both hands standing excitedly upright.

His cell beeped. "Yeah," Jackson answered, caressing his tall espresso.

"Got you your seats," the tech said, wasting no time.

Jackson blew out a breath of relief. "Thank you. Where are we sitting now?"

"18F and 18G. You're 18F. I gave her the window seat," the tech chuckled.

Jackson could afford to laugh now; an easy smile widened on his face. "I'm glad you did that." To be between Lisa and the aisle was a small but important advantage; it would make his own body a physical barrier if necessary, and at the very least it would increase the psychological threat in Lisa's mind.

A girl with glasses and dark hair at the next table caught his eye as he was in mid-grin. In a good mood now, Jackson tipped her a wink; she blushed and looked down, smiling.

"We also have someone on the way to remove the equipment from the condo as we speak," the tech said importantly.

"I appreciate that. I can't thank you guys enough for your help," Jackson said in all sincerity. "I'm really impressed with your work."

"Hey, man, _you're_ the star of the operation, as far as we're concerned. Takes balls to get on the plane and do what you've got to do tonight. Pretty touchy. None of us would want to try."

Jackson laughed. At least he knew someone appreciated his work. "Thanks again. It's been a pleasure."

He stood and folded his paper, deciding to take it with him. There was a lot of time left before the flight, and he might not encounter Lisa until then. Leaving Starbucks, he sauntered along the restaurant area. Jackson always enjoyed people-watching, but it was difficult to take notice of the other travelers when he was interested in only one… and she had yet to make her appearance.

Already Jackson had begun his mental discipline, resolutely distancing himself from Lisa. With cold deliberation he blanked out the summer full of memories one by one; impassively discarding each incident as if he were going through junk mail. Turning himself off, but not shutting down completely… he needed to be functional enough to be charming when he met Lisa. Relieved that he was still able to anesthetize himself against emotion, he found comfort in his own detachment.

Seating himself by the large-paned windows, Jackson saw that the storm continued to rage outside. He was about to open his paper again when he froze briefly. His hand went slowly to the breast pocket of his jacket, feeling the smooth paper within…the photo of Leese he had stolen from her father's wallet. He did not withdraw it, but stroked it softly with a fingertip, staring blankly across the airport. _Don't look at it… _Jackson cautioned himself.

Fingers still hooked into his pocket, Jackson turned and looked beside him. There was a wastebasket right beside his seat. He knew he should dispose of the photo; to view again it might risk his newly-constructed indifference. _Throw it away. _

But peering into the wastebasket at its rejected pamphlets, paper towels, and countless Starbucks cups, their insides coated with the scum of dried foam, Jackson knew he could not toss Lisa's picture into such trash.

Defeated, he leaned away from the garbage can, angry at himself. His hand retreated from the pocket and relaxed onto the armrest of the chair. _Fine. Keep it. Just don't look at it. She'll be here any time now…_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Part II: The Flight**_

When it happened at last, it did not seem real.

The instant the irate doctor rounded on Lisa, Jackson flung himself into the fray, driven by an ironic sense of protectiveness, the same that had impelled him to chase after the drunkard in the car two weeks before.

"Listen, _sir_…" He was too angry too quickly, and almost laughed at himself. _Tone it down…tone it down…_ He resumed in his most persuasive manner. "Umm, she's the only one standing between us getting out of here at all and total anarchy. She's exhausted, she's worked eighteen hours straight, and she suspects we all hate her just as much as you do," Jackson continued, unaware that he had grabbed the man's arm in frustration when he tried to turn away.

The doctor scowled at him.

"So what do you say we give her a break? Let her get back to her job I'm guessing is a lot more thankless than yours." Jackson fixed the taller man with his most piercing stare, all the while sensing Lisa beside him, watching.

Sullen, the man gave in. "This airline sucks," he grumbled, and moved away.

Jackson watched him go. Lisa turned around, and he met her eyes for the first time, only a quick flash.

He had caught her attention now.

But the line was shortening; if he were to make any sort of connection with Lisa at all before the flight, he would have to be quick and creative. Already he had displayed sympathy for people who had to work with the public, and she would identify with that.

Lisa had turned her back on him. Mentally, Jackson ran through several possible lines of dialogue in rapid succession, discarding each. Though his heart raced, he maintained his air of cool self-possession.

In a fortuitous turn, the older woman in front of Lisa directed her attention back to Jackson, saving him the trouble. "Thank you," she said, gesturing to Jackson in gratitude.

"You're welcome," Jackson replied, in as humble a tone as he could muster. As if he moderated arguments every day.

"Yeah. Thank you," Lisa said earnestly, relief plain in her features as she faced him.

Here it was. His open door.

"Oh. Not at all. I was just back-up, you got the ball rolling," he said as they moved forward in line. _Give her the credit. She'll warm right up._

Lisa met his eyes again, only briefly. "Yeah. Reflex, I guess," she confessed.

An unguarded invitation for more talk. Jackson jumped on it. "Why's that?" He wanted Lisa to look at him; her gaze had returned to the floor.

"I work in a hotel. Deal with people like that all the time."

No mention that she was the manager. Most people would have been unable to resist the opportunity to boast about such a position. From Lisa, no pretentiousness whatsoever.

"The Marriot? Hilton?" Jackson said, as if hinting that her refinement was such that she could not possibly be employed by a Holiday Inn.

"The Lux Atlantic," she revealed.

"Miami," Jackson said. "Right. I know it well." _So well that I know your favorite parking space, in fact._

Lisa's face lit up at his recognition of her hotel. Her smile broadened. "Yeah."

For a moment she resembled the picture concealed in his jacket pocket, and his heart skipped a beat. Jackson rushed on, keeping the tenuous conversation alive. "So, you're on this, uh…"

"…very delayed flight to Miami, yeah," Lisa finished for him. "You?"

"Yeah. Sadly, yeah." Jackson had begun to notice that Lisa seemed to have trouble maintaining eye contact with him, keeping her gaze downcast most of the time. When she did meet his eyes, he was taken with the softness and sincerity there. He plunged ahead. "But you know what? That's why God created the Tex Mex. Best nachos in the airport, and right across from our gate." Jackson knew his chances of Lisa inviting herself along were almost nonexistent, but he could not resist enticing her.

"Good tip. Thanks…" she said, smiling politely, and Jackson found himself looking at the back of her head again.

_Don't push her…_ Jackson waited a moment, looking hungrily at her, in a desperate attempt to hold back. To his dismay, the pent-up feelings he had restrained for so long were not to be denied, and they broke through in a painful rush. "Save you a seat," he offered, loathing himself instantly. This was precisely how not to behave with her.

"Oh…uh…" Lisa turned back to him, her eyes darting back and forth over his. Jackson could see her mind working frantically for an excuse to say no without appearing rude; then she broke into a wide, embarrassed smile and laughed.

Jackson laughed with her, though he was stung. Lisa could not cloak the interest in her eyes, but she was about to reject him nonetheless. Looking away quickly, Jackson backpedaled to save face. "Yeah, you know, that was…I just thought, since we were on the same flight…I didn't mean to invade your personal space…" He hated how he sounded.

"No…no…" Lisa said quickly, trying to placate him. "I just…I have a few calls to make."

_Calls? You, Leese? That's a good one. _"Sure. I understand," Jackson said, sustaining a small smile valiantly. "Go ahead," he indicated the counter ahead, where the clerk was waiting. "Have a good flight."

"Okay…you too," Lisa said, almost meekly. She was clearly ill at ease refusing him, but her relief was palpable.

Sick, Jackson watched her go. He was no different to her than any other man.

_Not for long._

_---------------------------------------------------------------------_

He needed a drink.

Taking a seat in the most conspicuous place possible at the El Paseo bar, Jackson scanned the crowd. Lisa was nowhere to be seen.

The instant the glass was in his hand, he felt better. Lisa had not rejected him, not really. She had rejected _men_. Jackson took a healthy swallow, remembering the evident attraction in Lisa's eyes. It had been there, plain as day. It had simply hit her too suddenly, and her knee-jerk response in such situations was to retreat. As soon as she gathered herself and recognized what she felt, she would seek him out.

In the meantime, he would keep his distance from other people. Lisa would spot him at the bar, see how lonely he appeared after her dismissal of him, and feel responsible for his solitude. She was ultimately a people-pleaser. He smiled into his glass.

He felt a flash of guilt for his intended dalliance with his subject. Tempting Lisa to have nachos with him was certainly not part of the plan. Deviating from the plan, if only in this harmless way, had been a symbolic middle finger from Jackson to his boss, an expression of disgust with the way the operation had gone.

But that wasn't all.

He had finally met Lisa. And wanted more of her. It had not been enough to merely speak with her as they stood in line; he had learned nothing. After eight weeks of keeping his distance, his appetite for her would not be satiated by so little contact. He knew that once the plane left the ground and his plan was put into motion, any favorable impression Lisa had of him would be completely destroyed. Terrifying her was in his job description, and something he had prepared for since day one. But before that, he would get as much pleasure out of Lisa as time allowed.

Jackson stuffed a nacho into his mouth and turned to look over the crowd again. His eye found Lisa just as she collided with another woman, the woman's large drink smashing into Lisa's chest and spilling its contents over her. Jackson froze in mid-chew and sat up straighter. _Whoops… shit, I hope that's not something hot._ The concept of Lisa missing her flight as a result of third degree burns shot through Jackson's mind disturbingly. The way things had gone so far, he would not be surprised.

Lisa stood back, arms raised, looking more embarrassed than injured. Jackson relaxed and continued eating. _No harm, no foul. Iced latte, maybe. _He directed his gaze elsewhere, not wanting Lisa to know that he'd seen. If she thought he had witnessed her humiliation, she would never approach him.

He ate some more, though his stomach soon protested the combination of nachos, alcohol, and the earlier espresso. Finally he gave up, pushing the plate away. This was not the time for a self-induced stomachache. He sighed and checked his watch.

And suddenly she was there.

"Oh… hi!" Jackson said, the pleasure in his tone genuine. He felt the same sort of delighted wonder that one experiences when finally coaxing a wild animal near enough to touch. _Wow… she came right up to me…_

"Is… this taken?" Lisa asked hesitantly, indicating the seat next to him. She had changed her clothes after the spill, or at least removed the navy jacket, and was now wearing a slightly clingy white top. Jackson liked it, knowing she had perhaps chosen it with him in mind.

With a welcoming gesture, Jackson smiled. "No, it's all yours."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lisa watched Jackson walk away, cell phone in hand. _Oh well, _she sighed to herself. He had been nice, and good-looking. Gorgeous enough that he probably had a girlfriend somewhere. Or everywhere.

Jackson had done nothing more than buy her a drink and engage her in an ordinary chat; but from him it had seemed anything but commonplace. The conversation had been wonderfully effortless and devoid of awkwardness, as if she'd known him before. But his disconcertingly blue eyes - she'd had trouble meeting them.

His name. _Jack Rippner. _Something she would normally have dismissed as a bad bar joke. But from him, it rang true.

Lisa started toward the gate on legs that were slightly rubbery from vodka and nerves. _God, I hate to fly. _Her mind drifted back to Jackson, wondering what his profession might be. At first, his clothing and smooth manner had made her think salesman, but his hair had been a touch too long for that to be likely. She could imagine him as a radio personality somewhere; he had the voice for it.

_He was intelligent. And decent_, she thought wistfully, as she gripped her purse and carry-on and headed for the gate. _How often do I meet someone like that? _There had been a spark between them, undoubtedly. Though he had never mentioned her appearance, she had sensed a quiet attraction from him. Jack had articulated an intense but gentle interest in her, an approach that she found safely flattering. _Jackson, Jackson… not Jack_, she reminded herself. It didn't matter. She wouldn't see him again.

She furrowed her brow, chewing her lip as she waited for the airport attendant to take her ticket. She was glad she had forced herself to approach Jackson. And proud. The mini-date had proven to her that, under the right circumstances and with the right person, she could still talk to men socially.

Already her organized mind was compartmentalizing Jackson, filing the memory of him under Lost Opportunities. She would never forget his disarming blue eyes and soothing voice.

And the unsettling way he had guessed her favorite drink.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jackson settled into seat 18F and looked over at the empty space to his right, anticipation growing in the pit of his stomach. Watching the other passengers board, and realizing how close they were to him, he knew how difficult it was going to be to make his deal with Lisa without attracting outside attention.

His gaze drifted out the window to the well-lit tarmac. _It's almost over. _Within a half hour, his part of the job would be done, and there would be nothing left to do but baby-sit Lisa through the rest of the flight. _Then what? _He was still unsettled about what to do with Lisa when they landed. The fact that he debated it yet within his own mind was a cause for concern. He knew his orders.

He tried to anticipate Lisa's reaction when she realized her seat was next to his. He flattered himself with the prediction that she would be pleasantly surprised, if his analysis of the Tex Mex exchange was accurate. It had been easy to walk away from her then, knowing he would see her shortly on the plane. But Lisa's disappointment at their parting had been unmistakable.

Jackson unfolded his paper yet again, so that he would look as unassuming as possible when Lisa located her seat. His drink at the bar had afforded him a warm tranquility that lingered, but the pages of his newspaper quivered in his fingers, a sign of nerves he could not hide.

Meeting Lisa had been comparable to walking up to an exquisite new sports car and peering in through the windows at last, having only previously admired one from television commercials or ads in magazines. Up close, she had seemed both larger and smaller than he had imagined - larger in presence, but smaller physically; almost delicate.

Beautiful.

He was impatient for her arrival. The sooner she found him, the more time he would have to talk with her before the plane lifted off the runway and hurtled them irreversibly toward their fate. More time to know her. As Jackson had questioned her at the bar about herself, he had ticked off a mental checklist at each correct reply.

Except one…she had lied about the Sea Breeze. His jaw tightened.


	11. Chapter 11

When Lisa bumped her head on the overhead luggage compartment, she took it as concrete evidence that she was smitten with Jackson. She quickly blamed it on the vodka - a handy but inaccurate excuse. Since grade school, she'd had the tendency to become temporarily clumsy around an attractive male; apparently she still had the unfortunate talent.

"You okay?" Jackson touched her arm with a solicitous hand.

Reassuring Jackson that she was unhurt, she sat, embarrassed at her inelegant display. Grateful that at least he had not seen her collision with the woman earlier and the resultant spill.

The warm sensation from the Bay Breeze had caught up to her in the delayed manner typical of vodka; blending with cautious excitement that Jackson was her seatmate. She had wanted more time to talk with him, and through fate, she had gotten her wish. _Don't get too excited. He may have planned to sleep through the flight, _she warned herself. _Just let him lead the conversation._

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"So… what are the odds, huh?" Jackson marveled, as he settled back into his seat. At this point, it was all too easy to amuse himself by playing with Lisa.

"Yeah… I know," Lisa said, wonderingly, smiling at their fateful crossing of paths.

He could not resist. "Wait a minute." He paused, as if a disturbing thought had just occurred to him. "You're not… _stalking_ me, are you?"

The instant distress in her face was priceless, and he waited, drawing out the tension for a few heartbeats.

"No," she said, in a small voice.

Another careful pause. Then Jackson laughed, releasing her from her anxiety.

Lisa laughed too, relieved.

She was in the palm of his hand. And easily frightened. When he revealed his demands to her, she would be tearing the phone off the seat in her haste to make the call for him. Jackson was energized; he had never felt better about the operation than at this moment.

"You got me," Lisa admitted, still laughing.

"I'm sorry," Jackson apologized, grinning in optimistic glee. _God, is this going to be easy… _Fifteen minutes from now, his part in the mission would be over and done, and he would have the rest of the flight to make nice with Lisa.

Foreseeing how easily the call to the hotel would be accomplished, Jackson began to look for new challenges. _Why not Lisa herself as a challenge? _She had undoubtedly felt the spark between them; he wondered if he could he re-ignite it after she made the call. He certainly was up for the stimulating task, since the alternative was two hours of uncomfortable silence.

Lisa was rubbing the back of her head where she had bumped it on the overhead storage compartment.

"You all right?" he was surprised to hear himself ask. The concern had come to him so naturally.

"If I say yes, are you gonna ask me if I'm sure?" Lisa said, peering at him flirtatiously.

Jackson had to look away for a moment. Her interest was so pure, so real. "No. No, that's your dad's department," he assured her.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Earlier today I had, um, some cheap wine at the funeral. And, combined with the cheap vodka…" Lisa confessed.

"I see," Jackson said with sensitivity.

"I blame you for that part," Lisa teased.

"Well, I feel terrible now." He shook his head at the seat in front of him in regretful shame, a mischievous smile on his lips.

"You should," she said, gently scolding.

"I do." Jackson felt anything but terrible. It was all falling into place.

-------------------

The plane began to move, and Jackson set his watch ahead one hour so that he was back on Miami time. He noticed Lisa stiffen beside him. She was staring fixedly ahead in apprehension, and Jackson let his gaze descend to her body. Her thighs were rigid, visibly quivering beneath the navy skirt, and the observation sent his blood surging. Forcing his eyes away from her, he rested his head on the seat and tried to quell the useless rush of desire.

But the carnal thoughts were not easily subdued. Lisa's nearness was magnetic and he was beset by the impulse to touch her. She was so close beside him; he would have only to reach over, let his hand slide along her taut but soft limb… and feel that wild tremor. _What would you do if I did that, Leese?_

The plane left the earth and began climbing, and Jackson glanced at Lisa again. She was a nervous wreck; he hoped she wasn't the type to become airsick. If she was, it would certainly put a damper on his sensual daydreams. The idea nudged him back to the duty at hand. _Keep her talking; it'll calm her down. Then bring the subject around to her father. Time to get this show on the road._

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"Usually when things are going perfectly, you're back on track, everything's going to plan, and then one day, outta nowhere… somebody forgets to bolt the engine to the wing," Jackson said, smiling.

Lisa smiled weakly. _Gee, thanks for that. Didn't I tell you I was afraid to fly? _"Yeah," she nodded, willing to let the unpleasant metaphor pass. After all, Jack had been so kind to her; she was grateful for his gentle presence.

"Thanks for distracting me," she said warmly, wanting him to know he was appreciated.

"Ah, that's not really what I'm doing," Jackson said with a guilty smile.

"What are you doing?" Lisa asked. Surely this was where Jack would openly hit on her at last; ask if she was available. And with a happy thrill, she knew she wanted him to.

"Just keeping the focus on you and your father."

"Why?"

"Part of my job."

Lisa wanted to kick herself. She'd asked Jack no questions about his life. All men wanted to brag about their careers, and she hadn't given him the chance. He had been so inquisitive about her, her family, her job - it was time to return the favor. They had two hours at least to get to know each other. She began to realize how intimate their seating was and how easily it would encourage personal conversation.

"Are you a shrink?" she grinned. It was fateful that she might meet a therapist this way, when she had avoided them for two years.

"No. Manager."

_This is too strange… _"Better not say of a hotel."

"No."

"Because that would have…"

"…given you cause to buy another self-help book," Jackson finished for her. He was still smiling, but Lisa did not miss the hint of contempt in his words. Puzzled, she glanced at him, then down at the floor.

She tried again. "So what do you do?"

"Government overthrows, flashy high-profile assassinations, the usual," Jackson said, without missing a beat.

Lisa stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, as he had before when he had accused her of stalking him. But he only stared back, and his eyes had gone decidedly colder. _Oh, boy. _There had to be a joke here somewhere, and she wished he'd get to the punch line.

"You're a spy. I should have known," she said, trying to draw him out. Such lameness was not in accord with the smooth appeal she had come to expect from Jackson.

"No, I'm not a spy," he denied matter-of-factly.

"Hitman," she said, beginning to tire of the joke; it was unnerving.

"I'm a lousy shot," Jackson confessed.

"Right," Lisa said, mildly irritated. "You work for the CIA."

"Well, if I did, I couldn't say, could I? But, no."

He seemed a little playful again, and she persisted with his game. "The Mafia?" This was getting ridiculous now.

"The money's shit."

His eyes had gone dead; the same eyes that she had thought so attractive a short time ago now cold and distant. Lisa felt a chill at the sense of menace emanating from him.

She looked down again. "Okay, well, that's kinda weird," she said with a nervous laugh, signaling that he was creeping her out. Hoping he would take the hint and revert to the former charisma he had demonstrated in the Tex Mex. Or maybe hoping that he would just stop talking. Beginning to doubt that her judgment of Jackson had been reliable, Lisa made a last attempt at salvaging the conversation. "Why don't you just tell me what you do?"

"I already did," he said quietly.

Lisa thought back to which occupation he had owned up to. It had been the one about government overthrows and assassinations. _Uh-oh. He's a weirdo. And I have to sit next to him for the next two hours. _Time to end the conversation without offending him, and avoid any further talk. _This just figures… _

"Okay. Okay, I'm sorry, I… whatever you do, that's your own business. Just as long as you're not, uh…" She could not look at him, but felt him staring intently at her. Too intently.

"What?" he prodded.

"…hijacking the plane?" she said delicately, afraid of the word being overheard by another passenger.

To her surprise, Jackson broke into a wide grin.

"Oh…no. No, I'm not suicidal," he informed her.

His smile gave her some comfort, but Lisa was repelled by the bizarre turn the conversation had taken. She was done. Let Jack Rippner sit in silence for the rest of the flight. As soon as she had the chance, she would tell him she needed to sleep. Hell, she would _fake_ sleeping for the rest of the flight if it prevented him from talking to her.

"Good," she said, giving him a concluding smile.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was time.

All his work. Countless hours spent sitting in his car. Missed meals. Lost sleep. Crushing boredom. Weeks of surveillance and self-sacrifice, long hot days and longer nights when he had questioned his sanity; it had all come down to this precise moment. Jackson forged ahead before the flame of dialogue burned out.

"And you know, you're right, most days it is my own business; but as fate would have it, my business is all about you."

That grabbed her again. "I'm sorry - about _me_?"

"That's right." He noticed that Lisa was leaning away from him a little. Afraid already, though the ghost of her former smile remained frozen on her lips.

"Okay, I'm… not sure where you're going with this." Confused. Worried.

"Charles Keefe. One of your regular VIPs. Ring a bell?"

Lisa stared at him, and now he could see comprehension dawning in her eyes. She thought before answering. "No, should it?" Playing dumb with him.

"Yes, it should because right now he's on his way to your hotel; and that's why you need to keep listening."

"No. No, I don't think, I don't have to do that," she stammered. Lisa was getting worked up now, pushing herself away in her seat. Flight response kicking in.

_Careful, now. _Jackson kept his voice low, knowing it would influence her to do the same, though she would not realize it. "Yes, you do, if you want your dad to live."

Lisa stared at him in shock. "What did you say?" Her tone was soft, as if he had merely offended her with vulgar language, but her eyes locked with his in horror.

"You heard me." She wasn't deaf, she just did not want to believe.

Lisa began looking over their seats, hoping someone else had heard. Searching for help. "Yeah…" She slid farther away from him and pressed the call button on her armrest.

As if he would not have anticipated such a move. He was almost insulted.

"Suit yourself," he said, reaching into his hip pocket and retrieving Joe Reisert's wallet. "But you might want to have at look at this first."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Like a nightmare_. That was the standard cliché; what people always said when they tried to describe times of extreme stress. But Lisa knew well that there was no truer comparison.

As Jack outlined the simple but heinous task he demanded of her, she felt as though she were listening from outside herself. Without warning, Jack Rippner had thrust her into his deplorable world of valueless life; indifferent to suffering and devoid of conscience. A realm as cold as his eyes.

Panic threatened, and Lisa gripped her father's wallet tighter, feeling it slide in her clammy fingers. A dreadful mantra resurfaced in her mind, the same she had drawn on that day in the parking lot… _Just do what he says and he'll go away…Just do what he says… _Hot tears scorched her cheeks that Jack had forced her to implement the desperate tactic again.

A blistering rage broke within her, lightning-fast and powerful.

She turned to Jackson.

"I want to talk to my dad."

"Sure. After you make the call." Accommodating bastard.

"No. I want to know he's okay right now or I don't call _anybody_." She was shaking, and fresh tears rolled down her face, but she held his gaze furiously.

_He needs me. I have some control. _


	12. Chapter 12

Jackson smoothed Lisa's hair again. She had been unconscious for nearly ten minutes now, he saw as he checked his watch. Somehow, it seemed he had failed to impress the realities of the situation upon her. Lisa had fallen victim to her runaway imagination and not bought into the simplicity of his demand. She was thinking too damn much.

Things would have to made clearer to her when she woke, although he thought he had been as simplistic as humanly possible. No doubt she viewed herself a lone hero, the sole being on board the plane who was capable of stopping a massive disaster from unfolding. What she had tried to pull with the book was incredibly stupid. His anger at her threatened to resurface, and he clenched his jaw against it.

He had almost been sorry to see the openness and trust disappear from her eyes so quickly and completely as he had set out his demands. Then her inevitable tears had started, but those had been easy enough to explain away to the flight attendant. He hadn't even had to lie.

After that, he had played upon Lisa's professionalism, hoping she would recognize that she must take his orders as readily and unquestioningly as she took them from her boss every day. He turned Dr. Phil's book over in his hands; tapped it lightly against his knee. So far, she just wasn't getting it.

Jackson leafed through Dr. Phil's book and his lip twitched in a brief sneer. _I can't believe she's into this crap... _It was disappointing. He glanced at Lisa, self-consciously reaching for his hairline again. The bleeding had stopped almost as soon as it had begun, but his scalp kept up a prickling sensation that made him unsure. Head-butting Lisa had been harsh, but he'd had only seconds to prevent the job's collapse, and there had been no other way to disable her quickly. _It's her damn fault. _Seeing as she was such a resourceful person, there would be no leaving her side until they landed.

He had been fortunate that no one had seen his attack against Lisa. Limited by his surroundings and the people nearby, Jackson had been unable to implement more frightening methods. And he had not thought it would be necessary. She was scared, but not scared enough.

The flight attendant stopped by again. "Is she doing all right?" she asked Jackson, looking at Lisa's slumbering profile with mild concern.

"Fine, thanks," Jackson said, low. "She just needed to sleep a little," he said, relieved as the attendant nodded, straightened. "I'm sorry," Jackson said, catching her before she moved on, "Could I get some aspirin for her? She said she had a headache."

"Oh, sure," the flight attendant said. "I'll bring some for her. Just give me a couple minutes."

"Thank you. No hurry."

Jackson hadn't wanted this level of attention from anyone on board. Lisa would simply have to remain calmer from this point; he would enforce it. And make sure that she made the damn call. It should have been over with by now.

He spied her father's wallet on the floor, and reached to reclaim it. There was no reason for Lisa to keep it. Better for him to have possession of it, now that it had served its purpose. He slipped it back into his hip pocket.

Turning to Lisa again, Jackson's eyes traveled from her delicate face on the pillow down the length of her body. Her legs sprawled limply, her left almost touching his right. Her arms were fine and slender; he reached over and stroked one softly, the silkiness making his fingertips tingle. Lisa did not stir at his touch, and he began to worry that he had used too much force when he had immobilized her. _If she doesn't wake up before we land, I'm fucked._

A woman passing in the aisle smiled at his loving caress. Jackson, beaming, took Lisa's hand and kissed it tenderly. The woman's smile deepened and she continued past, wistful.

Jackson held Lisa's hand a moment longer. There was no strength in it, no life, and its limpness reminded him unpleasantly of the way he had been instructed to end his contact with her. He laid her hand gently in her lap.

He had still not decided whether he would act in compliance with that command. Jackson had enough influence that he might, _might _be able to let Lisa live without the direst of penalties. As long as Keefe was taken out - the main objective fulfilled - his employers might be satisfied enough to forgive his rebellious streak. Because once released, Lisa was a risk only to himself.

It would be a deadly gamble to make.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lisa stared at the back of the seat in front of her, head throbbing. When she had awakened to find that Jackson Rippner was not part of a vodka-induced bad dream but very real and impatient, she had been disheartened to the point of despair. _There has to be a way out of this. _

Jackson shook a plastic cup with aspirin in it, telling her that he needed her coherent. Dimly, she felt anger well up at him. Whose fault was it that she was disoriented? If had not plied her with booze earlier and now head-butted her cruelly in her seat, she would be in much better shape. But he acted as though her present condition were the result of her own weak constitution.

She peered past him at the few passengers she could see, none of whom were looking their way. She had hoped that someone would have witnessed Jackson's sudden assault on her, but it appeared he had been lucky. Maybe someone would overhear their low conversation. But from the seat behind her, she could hear light snoring. And somewhere in front of her, the tinny sound of headphones turned up full blast. She faced Jackson again, forcing herself to look into his wintry eyes.

_There has to be a way out of this._

_-----------------------_

Lisa gasped and stumbled back as Jackson thrust himself into the small room with her, jamming his hand over her mouth. He shut the door and turned the light on, then slammed his body into hers again, his sudden momentum knocking her nearly off her feet and into the wall, her head striking it. She sat down hard on the toilet seat lid, struggling, pushing against his shoulders with both hands.

"Don't fight me…" he hissed, glancing around at the door.

This was the worst possible scenario; to be alone with Jack and out of view of the other passengers. His hand pressing over her mouth was panic-inducing, and it was an effort for her to obey his words. Of their own volition, her hands gripped feebly at his forearms, feeling their iron rigidity beneath his jacket. He was stronger, and he had the upper hand.

Jack shot a glance at her work on the mirror. "You're all worked up from being so creative. Breathe."

Lisa wanted to breathe, but his hand over her mouth made it difficult.

Satisfied that no one had seen his entrance or heard the brief struggle, Jackson lifted her to her feet and swung her into another wall, pinning her against it, his face so close that his stubbled chin brushed hers. His hand gripped her face in a brutal attempt to capture her attention.

"Please just stop whoever's at my dad's house," she begged, seared by the rage radiating from him. In quaking terror, she avoided his eyes, too petrified to look into them at such close range.

Jack pressed her harder into the wall with his body, tightening his hand on her face. He spoke in a tense, grinding whisper. "I already have, by _twice_ intercepting these little communiqués. You know if they'd have fallen into the hands of the by-the-book stewardess, she'd have gone straight to the cockpit, and we'd have landed somewhere else. If that happens, Leese, our guy in the BMW is gonna know about it. So do your dad a favor and stop gambling with his _life…_" he said with soft force.

Lisa mustered the courage at last to look into his eyes. Startled, she saw that the raw emotion in them was not anger as she had expected, but an imploring anguish. And something more, just below the surface - something stronger that he was trying desperately to cover. Something _personal_. He had not lessened the pressure of his body against hers, but the honesty in his eyes emboldened her.

"You don't have to do this…any of this…" she whispered, thinking she had glimpsed a hunger for redemption in him. She felt the hand on her face loosen a fraction.

Blowing out a short, incredulous breath, he shook his head at her just once, despondently, as if she could never fathom the depths of his entanglements. A pained look came and went over his features, and in that moment Lisa almost pitied him. Though he still pinned her tightly to the wall, the hand on her face relaxed even more, holding her almost softly.

-------------------------------------------

_Goddamn her. _

He felt exposed, as if they were intimate. Thrown off by her perceptive gaze, Jackson looked down, still breathing hard. And saw, on the flesh of her chest, the end of what looked like a scar. With his thumb, he pushed back the edge of her clothing to expose it further, feeling its texture. It was a long scar, ragged. Not a surgical scar, no. Lisa tensed in his grasp, and everything between them seemed to come to a standstill.

"Did someone do that to you?" he heard himself ask, horrified by his gentle tone.

She had seen into him. He wanted to see into her.

--------------------------------------------

"No." She was not about to divulge the attack to a man holding her against the wall of an airplane bathroom, his hands shaking with restrained strength.

The sincerity in his eyes vanished, replaced by a bitter contempt. "Is that what it is?"

"No," she whispered again, trembling violently in his hands. The fleeting moment of genuineness between them was gone as if it had never been, and she realized her mistake in lying to him. In terrified fascination, she watched contempt transform to hate in his eyes; his face twitched in a snarl.

Jackson threw her across the bathroom, never letting go, and his hands found her neck. Stunned, Lisa gasped as he began to apply pressure, but she could do little more than pry ineffectually at his hands. As she began to see flashes before her eyes, she realized he was talking to her, telling her he had followed her for eight weeks.

_He's crazy. He's going to kill me._

Then he had released her. Air tore into her lungs painfully, and she leaned over, gasping. Through her light-headedness she was aware that he had begun to run water over a paper towel and was cleaning her message off the mirror.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jackson swiped at the soapy words on the glass, still astonished that she had done such a thing. And furious with himself that he had let her go to the restroom at all. He had _trusted _her. His stomach twisted at the close call. Thank Christ he had listened to his gut and followed her to the bathroom.

_Why won't she just _do _this? Is it so fucking hard to make a phone call? _Out of a hundred people faced with such a dilemma, ninety-nine would opt to save their own flesh and blood before worrying about who else might get hurt. She could deal with her conscience later.

Leaning close to Lisa, he told her that the phones were working again. "Are you sure we've got a deal this time?" She looked dazed but defeated, and nodded. He had finally gotten through to her that he was in charge, that she had no options. Good. He laid his palm against her cheek in affirmation.

Checking his reflection in the smeared glass, Jackson drew in a breath and ran a hand back through his hair. To his dismay, the brief moment when he had let his guard down with her still lingered in his mind.

"Well," he said, straightening his jacket, "thanks for the quickie." They had to have an alibi, after all, if someone saw them come out of the bathroom together. And after their bizarrely personal moment, as well as his own physical exertions, he almost felt as if he'd just had a quick fuck. He looked into her face again and patted her cheek once more to cement the promise. "Come on," he breathed, turning out the light and opening the door.

-------------------------

Lisa almost collapsed into her seat. Her legs shook, and her neck burned where Jack had choked her. She had given her best shot at thwarting him, but each time he had punished her; now she had no more cards to play. Defeated, she almost _wanted_ to make his damn call, to get it over with. He would stop hurting her if she finally carried out his requirement.

He could have damaged her far more a few minutes ago, could have done the one thing she had been afraid he would do. Oh, yes. In such close proximity, there had been no secrets between their bodies. _Why didn't he? _Perhaps he had thought her sullied after finding the scar and discerning how she had received it; despite her denial, she had witnessed the disgust that had etched itself into his face in hard lines.

The unspoken knowledge hung between them as he took his seat next to her again. That she had inspired repulsion in someone as vile as Jackson was infuriating. Even upsetting - a wound to her soul. Who the hell was he to judge her as dishonest, or revolting? Jackson's entire life was a lie.

------------------------------------------

Jackson settled back into his seat, straightening his clothing again. He still felt off-balance. "I need you to pull yourself together, Lisa." Assuming she needed to, after his rough treatment of her in the bathroom. _Why do you keep making me hurt you? _

Lisa was piling up setbacks one after the other for him. It was a disappointment… _she _was a disappointment. Seeing the message on the bathroom mirror had been a genuine shock. Not because she had thought of it, but because she'd had the guts to _do_ it. He'd pleaded with her to stop gambling with her father's life - but inside, he'd been entreating her to realize that she was gambling with his life as well. Of course, she could not know that he must succeed or die, nor would she care. With each of her attempts to have him discovered, fear had slashed at his gut; that fear had turned to rage in the isolation of the bathroom.

The scar. He imagined that he could still feel its irregular line beneath his finger. Someone had abused Lisa, violated her. And all he could feel was a disillusionment. He had always presumed that Lisa had led a sheltered life, and that helped inspire his wish to spare her in the end. But discovering that not only had she been severely traumatized by some sick predator, but had lumped him in the same category as the fucker… well, that had hurt. He was a professional - he'd even abstained from placing a camera in her goddamn bedroom. But her eyes, her eyes… they had accused him of wanting to despoil her.

She was making him behave in ways he had not expected. But wasn't that par for the course by now? Lisa had affected him unpredictably for weeks. Jackson had lost control with her, but it appeared to have done some good. She now sat quietly, knowing that there was no alternative left for her.

_Should I still let her go? _Getting on the plane only an hour before, he had thought he would release her in the end. But Lisa was a loose cannon, regrettably. The more she acted out on the plane, the more she pushed him closer to following through with his employer's orders. Disheartened, he was no longer sure he was willing to risk all for her; no longer convinced she was worth it.

God, he admired her. Hated her. She would be his undoing.

------------------------------------------------

Jackson held his breath.

"Four zero eight zero," Lisa said flatly.

_She did it. She fucking did it. _

"Look. You're right, they're not gonna be happy. So just… just tell them I authorized it." Her eyes were empty as she spoke. The display on the phone changed to show the airline logo, and Jackson knew the call had ended. Lisa held onto the phone a moment longer, as if she could call back the words, then dragged it from her ear and hung it up.

"Outstanding." And he meant it. Her voice had remained steady throughout, and she had even laid her head on the chopping block for all later blame. He was engulfed by a tremendous sense of pride in her. _This_ was the Lisa he'd known he could count on - the Lisa he'd always envisioned.

Skillful. Strong. And working with him, not against him.


	13. Chapter 13

Lisa sat very still next to Jackson, only beginning to absorb the horrific implications of what she had done for him. The pen, tucked into her waistband, jabbed her uncomfortably; a pathetic reminder of her helplessness. She had seen it on the floor on the way back from the bathroom; had grabbed it and shoved it into the top of her skirt almost without thinking.

Jackson had spoken very little to her after she had at last made the terrible call, and Lisa felt absurdly abandoned by him. And insulted that he had nothing further to say to her, now that she had done what he wanted. _He used me…_ She swallowed hard and furrowed her brows at the seat in front of her. In the bathroom, as he held her against the wall, there had been the briefest moment when something had passed between them. A moment when she had seen not anger but a pleading desperation in his eyes; someone trapped in his own torment and anxious that she not make a bad situation worse. That glimpse of humanity in Jackson made everything else about him harder for her to accept.

------------------------------------------------

Jackson scrubbed a hand over his face wearily. He was tired, but relaxed. It had taken half the flight, but Lisa had come through, as he had known she would. She was, after all, a professional. Glancing in her direction, he studied her profile as she stared out the window. She had certainly kept him on his toes, but most of that had been his own fault for trusting her. For all her good qualities, she was a liar.

The incident in the airplane bathroom resurfaced in his mind, and he fidgeted at the humiliating memory. That moment when he had felt exposed, as if they were intimate. In one uncanny second, Lisa had somehow connected with him, _seen_ him; something he never allowed in his life. Which she then had promptly trashed by lying to his face. That sort of disrespect was unforgivable. _Just as well, _he thought. It had jolted him back to business quicker than anything else could have, and given him a handy excuse to immediately cover his gentle slip-up with an appropriately angry show of force.

She probably doubted that he intended to leave her alive, which would explain some of her desperate acts. What would happen to Lisa after they got off the plane depended entirely on her behavior. But at the moment, he could do no more than promise her she would walk away. And he would keep that promise, if it were possible. He threw her another sidelong glance, which she ignored. There was one more thing he might attempt. Something that might serve him well in the future if need be…and only if he could persuade her. A last detail…

--------------------------------------------------------------

Lisa put her head back on the seat and struggled with her desperate wish for Jackson to speak again. She hated him, yet dealing with his silence was more difficult than his words. With something akin to horror she realized that she _missed _talking with him. The tension between them was as if they were lovers who had argued and were deliberately freezing each other out - each hoping the other would crack first. She closed her eyes, noting how quiet the cabin had become.

"Come on, Leese," Jackson murmured. "Dr. Phil wouldn't want you to be so miserable over this."

Lisa's head came up off the cushioned seat; she opened her eyes and faced him again, his voice causing dread and gratitude to churn sickeningly inside her. "What do you expect me to feel?" she asked.

"Well, for one, you could try feeling proud. Or how about relieved? You saved your dad's life," he said. "You made the right decision."

"It doesn't feel right," she whispered, looking away.

Jackson leaned close. She did not dare turn to face him.

"A lot of things don't feel right," he said softly. "But they _are_."

Lisa stared out the window, afraid even to move as powerful, conflicting emotions assailed her. _Is this Stockholm Syndrome? _She wondered. _Already?_

She craved his attention, needed it, realized that she would panic if she lost it, all the while hating his power over her. _Oh, God…_

She felt her hair stir as he leaned closer still. "What you can't admit is that I'm the best relationship you've had in years, Leese. No matter what else we've done tonight."

Lisa shut her eyes as this knife of truth pierced her. It was horrible, but she could not deny it. Her throat tightened with anguish. "So what?" she hissed venomously, trying to ignore his closeness.

"What made you come sit beside me in the Tex Mex, Leese?" Jackson whispered. "Was it that I looked safe to you? Were you just tired of being alone so much?"

Lisa turned, at last looking him in the eyes. "What do you want me to say? That you did a great job pretending to be a nice guy? Does it make you feel good somehow - that you _fooled_ me?" Despite her efforts to contain herself, her eyes burned with angry tears.

"No," Jackson said somberly. "I enjoyed every minute of our little conversation at the bar. And so did you. It's just that everything since has pretty well ruined it for you." His eyes moved over her face. "It's understandable."

Lisa drew back slightly under his scrutiny.

Jackson seemed to hesitate, then spoke again. "I didn't need to make contact with you before the flight. In fact, my higher-ups would probably have been pissed off that I did. Do you know why I did?"

Spellbound, Lisa shook her head.

"Because I _wanted_ to."

The silence between them was charged; Lisa's eyes moved over his face in thrilled trepidation. He was willing to defy his superiors - killers - to have a drink with her? Almost too far-fetched to believe.

Jackson shifted in his seat to face her more comfortably, as if he had much to say. "I wanted to meet you, Leese. Get a sense of your personality; see what you were like. I couldn't resist. You made me go against my better judgment."

Lisa stared at him. Was this some bizarre sort of line? It sounded more like a confession.

Jackson lowered his voice more still. "I had my mind made up that I probably wouldn't like you. I guess I wanted to prove myself right so I would feel better about what I had to do. But…I _did_ like you. You proved me wrong." He paused, and his eyes flicked away for a moment before locking with hers again. "So then… I just wanted you to have a good experience with me before I had to turn your night to shit."

Lisa chewed her lip. "What…are you saying you regret doing all of this?"

Jackson smirked faintly. "Don't take it _that_ far." He paused. "I just wanted to remind you how you felt earlier tonight. When you liked me," he added with teasing sarcasm.

Lisa's eyes softened slightly. "Yeah..."

"You hadn't done that in a long time, had you, Leese?" Jackson said. "Taken a man's invitation to share a drink…let him buy…lower your defenses for just a few minutes…?"

Lisa shook her head and looked down at her lap.

Jackson reached out with a gentle hand and turned her face toward him again. "Were you interested in me?" he asked smoothly.

Lisa swallowed nervously at his hand on her face. "Yes," she managed to whisper.

Jackson bent to her, and it seemed all right that he did. She closed her eyes, unable to bear his gaze. His lips brushed hers softly. Then returned with more pressure, invitingly. Her lips trembled open slightly, and he responded with a slow, gentle exploration. The warmth of his kiss sent a shock through her. She weakened limply in her seat as Jackson leaned into her more, his tongue caressing hers. She heard him draw in a deep breath, and he slid his hand back into her hair, holding her at the nape of her neck.

His stubble was rough in her palm as she stroked his jaw…somehow her hand had ventured there. She moaned softly into the kiss, wanting more. Jackson moved closer still, and she rose to meet him, her hands ruffling his hair, luxuriating in its softness.

Lisa tilted her head back, forcing Jackson to break the kiss. In astonished pleasure, she gasped as he kissed her neck with tormenting slowness, licking and breathing huskily into her hair, warming her. Another soft moan escaped, beyond her control.

Dimly she was aware of her surroundings and the passengers around her, but they had faded to the edges of her consciousness. There was only Jackson… Jackson's gentle mouth on her neck…the warm scent of him…the sound of his exhalations in her ear, his breathing low and heavy in arousal.

His hand found her thigh, began to slide up over her skirt. Toward her hip, her waist…

Remembering what was tucked there, Lisa stiffened and opened her eyes. Terror flooded through her as she envisioned him feeling the pen in her waistband, and understanding exactly why she had hidden it there.

She felt Jackson pause. His hand ceased movement, though his mouth still lingered where her jaw met her neck.

"_Sir_." Quiet outrage emanated from the flight attendant as she stood over them.

Jackson released Lisa slowly, and sat back in his seat to face the attendant in mock contrition.

"_Ma'am_," the woman addressed Lisa, disgust in her features. She looked from Lisa to Jackson several times in silence, ensuring she had their attention. Finally she directed her dislike at Jackson. "There are children on board this flight," she said in a terse whisper. "If the two of you can't control yourselves for twenty more minutes, I will have to report this as a disturbance."

Lisa, flustered at what had just happened, scarcely heard the attendant's words. Her flesh still tingled where Jackson had kissed her; her heart galloped wildly in her chest.

Jackson ran a hand back through his hair. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again," he said silkily, prompting another withering glare from the attendant.

The woman darted a glance at Lisa, observing her flushed appearance. "It better not," she cautioned them, and moved away at last.

Lisa was reeling. Her body was on fire, and the sudden end to the heightening passion was disorienting. In disgusted horror, she became conscious of what she had just done, and the cabin seemed to tilt sideways as a slight dizziness overcame her briefly. In one selfish moment, she had given in to pure sensation, had forgotten who Jackson was. As he had wanted her to. She looked at him. When he had kissed her, she had been able to hear his desire in the sound of his breathing. Now he sat coolly next to her, unaffected.

"Why did you do that?" she whispered furiously. She wanted him to look at her, to acknowledge what had happened.

Jackson turned to her, his eyes narrowed slightly against the glare from the rising sun, and Lisa had never seen anything as beautiful as he was then. Or as terrible.

"The same reason you did," Jackson said simply. "Let's leave it at that, Leese." His eyes held hers for several heartbeats without a trace of emotion.

------------------------------

Jackson waited for her rage, her disgust, for her to spit in his face, even. She merely turned away to contemplate the sunrise outside her window. He sat back, satisfied. Beneath his calm exterior, his heart was slowly resuming a quiet pace. He had not intended the kiss to play out as it had, had never expected it to escalate so rapidly…he had nearly gotten away from himself. His arousal threatened to return at the memory, and his eyes darted towards Lisa again. She had been every bit as excited, he knew. This was good.

He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the flight attendant on the witness stand, if it ever came to that….

"_No, I don't believe Lisa Reisert's version of events. Any of it. I certainly don't believe Mr. Rippner attacked her in the bathroom. I saw them afterwards, and they were all over each other in their seats…" _

"_Are you saying they were kissing?"_

"_Kissing, making out, yes."_

"_Could Mr. Rippner have been kissing Miss Reisert against her will?"_

"_Oh, no. She was enjoying herself. I had to ask them to stop…"_

Jackson grinned to himself. One detail could set a man free. He never missed a detail.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Lisa stared at the sun as it rose above the horizon. There would be no end to Jackson's power over her. _Why did he kiss me? _Her mind worked furiously, and suddenly his words came back to her…

"_I just wanted you to have a good experience with me before I had to turn your night to shit." _

Perhaps his sensual kiss was intended to be a final good experience for her...before he killed her. She closed her eyes. It made sense.

She ran her finger along the length of the pen that protruded from her waistband. _Now I know what to do…_

_---------------------------------------------------------------_

She struck like an assassin.

With more force that Jackson would have expected from her delicate arm, she had rammed something into his throat. In shock, his hand flew to the object- just as Lisa began to clamber over him. _No, no, NO…_ he managed to just snag her foot briefly, spilling her into the crowded aisle. Pain lanced through his neck as he tried to get up from his seat; he saw her recover herself, slipping and dodging away between passengers. Stunned, Jackson could only pull himself from his seat and fall into the aisle in a half-assed attempt to pursue her. The reality of his injury confronted him by the fact that he could barely draw a breath around whatever was in his throat.

His body was aware it had been assaulted, and revolted against his negligence of it. A sudden, terrible weakness overcame Jackson, and he slowed to a crawl in the aisle, just as Lisa's shapely legs disappeared from sight. _I can't believe she did that to me… _He sat on the floor gasping, trying not to panic at the sensation that he was choking on something. Aghast people all around him, leaning over him. Somehow, he found it terribly disturbing that they could see his injury and he could not.

He put a hand to the object again gingerly, afraid to move it. Felt like a damn pen. Rage flooded through him, giving strength to his legs. He picked himself up and pushed his way toward the rear of the plane, to the astonished reaction of those nearest to him.

He reached the nearest bathroom and pawed the door open. Inside, not bothering to put the light on, he got his first look at the damage. It _was _a damn pen. With a fucking blue Frankenstein on the end. The wound itself was nearly bloodless, the pen so tightly wedged in his throat that it had stopped any flow.

Looking at it immediately nauseated him and he fought the urge to vomit, sure that to do so would cause further damage.

He could hear the flight attendant telling the passengers to return to their seats, and calling for a doctor. Jackson leaned forward, closer to the mirror. The pen was gagging him, and he choked painfully. He clenched his jaw as the fury in him heightened. _I can't believe she did that to me…I can't believe she…_

The betrayal was overwhelming. He'd treated her well, kept up his end of the deal, and this was how she had repaid him.

All those weeks. His entire summer taken up with her; her life. And she'd done _this_ to him.

The morning sun blinded him momentarily through the huge airport window. He drew a rattling breath and looked around. The instant he saw her, some terrible force inside took over, launching him after her. Nothing mattered anymore - not the job, not his career, or whether he went to prison.

Seeing Lisa in pain was all that mattered now.

She turned and saw him. And fled. _You _better _run, _Jackson thought. He bolted after her. He'd never experienced incendiary rage like this, a frenzied wrath that gave wicked speed to his legs and numbed the pain in his throat. It was almost orgasmic in its intensity.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he caught sight of her again, racing away. Not fast enough, not nearly. He exploded after her, running her down with maniacal swiftness. He would catch her, oh yes, he would. His rage lifted him, propelled him effortlessly as he ran.

She was gone.

He stood at the window and listened to his breath rasping in his violated neck, and watched as Lisa left him behind. She was a lying bitch; she'd betrayed him…hurt him.

But she would not have the last word. Oh, no. He knew exactly where she was going, and he had rage to burn.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Part III - Aftermath**_

_Cold. _

He was so cold.

Jackson opened his eyes dazedly. His body was dream-state sluggish, his mouth dry as cotton. The need for liquid was overwhelming; he swallowed, and flinched at the pain in his throat. Blinking slowly, he peered about his surroundings, and understood that he was in a hospital room.

Forming a coherent thought was like trying to grasp a handful of smoke, and Jackson turned to his own body for clues. Seeing the IV snaking to his right arm, he started to lift it towards his face for closer inspection. A white-hot pain erupted on the right side of his chest from the motion, and he cried out in unsuspecting agony.

A face appeared over him. A nurse, black, younger than he was. "You need to keep your arm still," she cautioned him. "How do you feel?"

Jackson could not answer her, his face contorted as he waited for the deep throbbing in his chest muscle to subside. He breathed through the pain, feeling as though his lung was tearing itself apart; another powerful twinge making its presence known in his lower ribcage. _Jesus Christ…_

The nurse tried again. "On a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?"

Jackson struggled to make sense of her question. Evidently heavily drugged, he was already losing the thread of the conversation, and the nurse repeated her query with understanding persistence. "Ah… nine…" Jackson moaned, ashamed at his show of weakness and distressed by a shivering that threatened to tear his chest apart.

"Okay, hang in there. I'm going to adjust your pain medication, Jackson," the nurse reassured him.

_How long have I been here? What happened? _Everything was a terrifying blank. He closed his eyes, not wanting to know the answers. Not ready to face them. A warm sweetness flowed into him then, a chemical embrace that lifted him away from his misery.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sunset's glow slanted through open blinds, striping the walls a pale orange. Police officers moved through it, the rosy hue illuminating their faces, glinting off handcuffs and belt buckles now and again as they searched Lisa's condo. She stood against the kitchen counter, watching. The men moved about, peering into her entertainment center, removing pictures and checking the wall behind them, feeling along the edges of doorframes and cabinets.

"Did you find it yet?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate.

The detective guided her back to her sofa. "Did he ever actually _say _he had a camera in your home, Lisa?"

Lisa sat, furrowing her brows. She had been up for over thirty-six hours now. Her head ached and her eyes felt gummy from lack of sleep. "I… I don't think so. But there must have been."

Detective Mathis leaned closer, his dark eyes watchful, and lowered his voice. "I know this has been hard for you. But I need specifics if you can give them to me. Did he say something about how your condo looks inside? Or maybe describe a particular piece of furniture? Or something you wore around the house?"

Lisa's eyes widened. She had almost forgotten Jackson's words. That deriding whisper. "…_late night classic movies…scrambled eggs at three AM…" _Mocking her. Reciting her routines only because it gave him sick satisfaction to frighten her.

She swallowed. "No. But he described things I'd done." She repeated what Jackson had said; Mathis wrote it down word for word. Watching his pen scribble across the page, Lisa's eyes became unfocused.

"_What turned you into such a loner? Was it your parents' divorce? Wait... did someone break your heart?…"_

Jackson's cold intrusiveness, along with the sudden knowledge that he had been watching her for weeks, had literally nauseated her on the plane. Her stomach churned again at the memory.

"You okay?" Mathis said, his pen pausing.

An officer in the room turned on Lisa's television. The aftermath of the Lux Atlantic bombing was being covered live. The camera panned from the reporter to the hotel, zooming in on the corner that had been destroyed. The fire was out, and clear sky shone through the area that had once been suite 4080. Lisa grabbed for the remote control, causing several officers to turn and look at her.

Turning the volume up, Lisa leaned forward on the couch.

"…_although Miami police are stressing that no arrests have been made, an investigation is under way into a shooting in Coral Gables this morning that left one man in serious condition and may be linked to the bombing. They have not released the shooting victim's name, saying that at this time, he is not a suspect. Other leads are being explored, and police say that the investigation will be ongoing."_

_Not a suspect? _The remote sagged in her hand. And no mention of the dead man on her father's floor, the man she had knocked into his house with the car.

_Serious condition. _She swallowed hard. Watching the paramedics lift Jackson from the glass-strewn floor and hurry him into the ambulance, Lisa had been assaulted by an overwhelming contradiction of emotions. Fear, even then. Relief. And a wrenching regret that had drawn her out into the front yard as the ambulance departed. Regret that might have only been human compassion for the physical suffering she had inflicted, though by all rights Jackson had earned that suffering.

"Lisa?" Detective Mathis broke into her thoughts.

Lisa turned to him. "What if he dies?" she said, in a tone dead of emotion. Her eyes pierced the detective's, but her lips trembled.

Mathis stared at her in a speculating silence.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The black nurse stood aside for the officer, disapproval written across her features. "Can you do that without his consent?"

The officer took Jackson's hand and pressed his thumb into the ink. "Sure can," he said. He rolled Jackson's finger onto the card, then moved to the next one. "This is a lot easier when they're awake, though," he joked.

The nurse folded her arms over her chest and twisted her lips uncertainly. "Hmm."

"He hasn't been arrested. Yet." The officer finished with Jackson's left hand and moved around to the other side of the bed, cuffs jingling on his hip.

"What did he do? Allegedly?" the nurse added with a touch of humor.

"Haven't you had the TV on at all today?" The officer looked over his shoulder, grinning.

The nurse raised her eyebrows. "Did he blow up that hotel?"

"Well, officially I can't comment on that," the officer said, rolling Jackson's index finger onto the card. "But he is going to be questioned when he wakes up."

"Oh. Wow," said the nurse, looking down at Jackson mistrustfully, as if seeing him in a whole new light.

After the officer left, the nurse set about cleaning the ink from Jackson's fingers with alcohol. Another nurse came into the room, smoothing back her steely salt-and-pepper hair. "They just told me that we need to have security in here every minute. _Our_ security."

The black nurse straightened. "Why don't they just leave an officer here?

The older nurse shrugged. "I guess because they haven't officially arrested this guy. Don't want to use their people when we can use ours… you know how that goes. It all comes down to money." She looked down at Jackson. "He's better looking than most criminals," she commented dryly.

Jackson stirred as the nurse continued to scrub his fingertips, but did not open his eyes. "Leese…" he rasped softly.

"What'd he say?" The older nurse raised an eyebrow.

"Sounded like 'lease.' God knows what he's dreaming about."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The light outside the hospital window was soft and pink. Sunrise, or sunset? Jackson did not know. He did not even know if it was the same day as the last time he'd awoken. Time was slipping away, time gone when he needed to know what had happened and still didn't. He lay perfectly still, concentrating as well as the drugs would permit.

_Go back. Go back over it. _

The flight… all the trouble on board. Trouble with Lisa. Oh yes, he remembered now. Remembered pinning her against the wall of the bathroom, feeling her heart pound beneath his arm like a frightened animal's. What else?…

A pen. A blue pen in his hand… as had torn it free from his neck. Reaching slowly, Jackson felt for his throat, as if expecting it to be lodged there still. Instead, his cautious fingers encountered the soft cotton of a bandage. His upper lip twitched in reawakened rage.

_Does that refresh your memory? _he thought, in a startling moment of bitter clarity. It all came back to him in a rush then. Chasing Lisa through the airport. Driving like a madman through traffic to her father's house and spitting out the car's window because swallowing was agony. At the house, Lisa taunting him. Lisa in his face, and that word she had used.

_Pathetic. _She had called him pathetic.

He ground his teeth in fresh anger, and remembered the blow to his midsection that had been Lisa shooting him. _Shooting _him, as if he were a common burglar. He had kicked the gun from her hand, only to have it fired on him again by her father. The alarming sensation of his body violated by the bullets; shredded inside. His rage had vanished then, Jackson recalled. Being shot twice was the ultimate attitude adjuster.

Jackson felt a delirious wrath stir within him once more at the memories. He fought it. Anger was no use to him now. After Lisa had stabbed him, he had utterly abandoned himself to emotion, and it had been cleansing somehow, an experience like no other. Rational thought had ceased to exist, and it had felt damn good, like setting down a heavy burden carried far too long. In his furious rampage, Jackson had felt reborn.

But his inability to restrain that fury was the very reason he now lay in this hospital bed, afraid to move; afraid of the pain. Had he let Lisa go, he could have disappeared from the airport and let her take the fall for the Lux Atlantic. He had abandoned himself to rage, and now he would pay.

_I lost control._ _God, I fucked up. _

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lisa smiled nervously at Detective Mathis; fingers toying with her wristwatch. Just being in the police station made her uncomfortable; she felt as if she were a suspect. But Mathis had taken her into his office for the second round of questioning; a humane gesture meant to settle her down. _It's okay. I'll probably have to do this a lot, _she reassured herself.

"Okay, Lisa." Mathis set a couple of small plastic bags on the table between them. Through one, Lisa could see her father's wallet. "I have some items I'd like for you to look at."

The detective took the first bag and opened it, extracting the wallet. "After what you told us, we sent an officer up to the hospital today and recovered some of Mr. Rippner's possessions as evidence."

Lisa's heart began beating faster upon hearing Jackson's name. Her hands twisted in her lap.

Mathis pushed the wallet across the table, inviting her to examine it. "Do you recognize this as the wallet you saw on the plane?"

_Not "your father's wallet,"_ she thought. Lisa reached for it, stopped. "Um, is it okay to touch it? I mean, don't they have to…"

Mathis nodded. "It's been fingerprinted already. Go ahead."

Lisa lifted the wallet from the table. Turned it over. JR - the monogram in the corner. "Yeah. My dad's wallet."

"You can look inside, Lisa, if you like," Mathis suggested.

Lisa shrugged a shoulder, opened the wallet. Inside were credit cards and the top edge of a driver's license. _California. _Lisa swallowed. Well, of course, Jack would have put his own identification inside; he had told her as much on the plane. "His stuff's in here. He told me it would be." She dropped the wallet on the table, afraid to see the license. Dreading seeing Jack's picture on it.

"Mm-hm," Mathis said. He leaned back in his chair. "Is there anything in the wallet that belongs to your father?"

Lisa reluctantly picked it up again. Opened it. She withdrew each credit card, checking the name. _Jackson R. Rippner. _One after another. Finally, with trepidation, she pulled the driver's license from its sleeve. Enough to see the photo of Jackson, his direct gaze making her heart jump disagreeably. She quickly shoved it back into its covering and rifled through the rest of the wallet, under Mathis' attentive eye. There was cash, more than her father would have carried. And a receipt for a car rental place in Miami, which she gave a cursory glance before refolding and sticking back inside the wallet. She set it on the table again.

"No." None of her father's possessions remained.

"Did your father carry any photos in his wallet?" Mathis asked.

"Yeah. But they're not there now." Lisa felt a ripple of fear as she sensed the wheels turning in the detective's mind. So far, she had given him nothing to prove that this was her father's wallet. _What if it isn't? _She'd had nothing but Jackson's word. Resting an elbow on the table, she cupped her forehead in her palm. "I know it's my dad's wallet. That's all I can tell you."

Mathis brought forth the other plastic bag. He reached into it, withdrew something small, and slid it toward her on the table. "Do you recognize this?"

Her photograph. The black and white managerial portrait from the Lux Atlantic. Something in her soared. "Yes! This was in my dad's wallet." She picked it up, turned it over. Nothing on the back; she recalled that she'd written no inscription the day she had given it to him. Now she wished that she had. "Where was it?"

Mathis paused. "That picture was in his jacket pocket." He tapped his chest area, just over his heart, and his dark eyes bored into her.

"Who?" Her voice sounded weak to her own ears. "You mean… Jack?

Mathis nodded, tilting his chair back and rocking slightly. Watching her reaction.

Lisa felt her face grow hot. "Well, I have no idea why." She'd tried to instill outrage and disgust into her tone, but, lacking the energy required, the comment took on a wondering, defensive quality. She tore her eyes from Mathis and focused on the photo.

"Well, that's good news, isn't it, Lisa? That we found something that belonged to your father in Jackson Rippner's possession?"

Lisa shook her head quickly, as if to revive herself. "Well, yeah! See, that proves this is Dad's wallet. That _is_ good news."

Mathis was silent again. He threw her a comforting smile.

Lisa returned the smile. With a finger, she pushed the photo back across the table, wishing she could control the color in her face. Jack had carried this photo of her with him. On him. _For how long? _He must have intended to keep it. Why?

_Jackson leaning into her, his breath in her ear… his soft mouth on hers… _She cut off the memory, burying it quickly. Her eyes darted to Mathis, who was staring at her intensely, as if he could read it in her face; know what she had not told him. Lisa swallowed, feeling sick.


	15. Chapter 15

Jackson clenched his jaw as a fresh twinge stabbed his chest. Even through the morphine, pain occasionally sank an iron claw into him as if to remind him it was still there.

"Mr. Rippner?" A woman with a long blonde braid stood in his doorway, clipboard in hand. "We've had trouble locating any next of kin. Is there someone we can call for you?"

Jackson closed his eyes, shook his head on the pillow slowly. "No," he finally murmured.

The girl let the clipboard drop a fraction, and her head tilted. "No one?"

_Great, now she feels sorry for me. _"No." His throat hurt too much to prolong his reply.

"All right," the woman said, her lips tightening in a pitying smile. She left, shoes squeaking faintly on the hospital floor. Jackson still had no idea what length of time he had been in the hospital. Hours? Days?

Through the drugged fuzziness in his thinking, he considered his situation. By now he was surely a prime suspect in the Lux bombing, though there was no physical evidence linking him to it. The call to change Keefe's room had come from seat 18G - Lisa's seat, using her credit card - which he'd wiped clean of his fingerprints and dropped on the floor beneath her seat afterwards.

And as for the cell phone that Lisa had taken from him; well, she would get a nasty surprise when she handed _that_ over to the police as evidence. His lips curved in a sly smile.

But the minute he had set foot in Joe Reisert's house, Jackson had created an entirely different predicament for himself. How to explain _that_ away?

There was only one way to go with it. _Domestic disturbance. _Lisa had, after all, stabbed him in front of several dozen witnesses. And there had been the kiss. Their very public kiss. Jackson felt a flush at the memory - he'd done it for his own pleasure, there was no use denying that. But it had also been intended as an act that would potentially damage Lisa in court, if it ever came to that. And it looked as if it would.

Lisa. Flashes of her plagued his few waking moments. Lisa, of the liquid hazel eyes and plush lips, this doelike, dainty woman had, in one stroke, changed everything. Changed his life. Or ruined it, however you wanted to look at it. She had uncovered powerful emotions in him, had brought into daylight that which should have remained hidden.

Leese. God, he still remembered the scent of her.

"Hello?" Jackson croaked at the empty room, straining his swollen vocal cords.

The woman with the long braid returned, looking concerned, clipboard still in hand. "Need something?"

Jackson tried to speak, but only managed a feeble cough from his desiccated throat.

The woman located a small paper cup and turned to the sink with it. She brought it to Jackson. Feeling its feather-lightness, he peered inside to find roughly a tablespoon of water in the bottom. He looked up questioningly.

"No big swallows yet. Because of your…" she tapped her fingertips against her own throat.

Jackson tipped the contents of the cup into his mouth and swallowed cautiously. Clearing his throat to speak, he winced at the flare of pain. But this needed to be said, and the sooner, the better.

"There is someone," he said quietly.

"Oh! That's good." The girl picked up her pen hurriedly and waited.

Jackson paused, letting the throbbing in his neck subside. "My girlfriend. She's all I have. Can you call her?"

"Sure!" the girl reassured him, nodding emphatically. "What's her name?"

"Lisa Reisert." He gave the girl Lisa's home number, thankful that his memory of it was intact.

The girl hurried to make the call and Jackson sank back into his pillow. The effort of talking had worn him out and revived pain in several areas of his damaged body. Drowsiness came over him with astounding speed, and he gratefully surrendered to it.

The police would come soon…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cell phone rested cozily inside its plastic evidence bag, white dust still partially coating its surface from the fingerprinting process. Detective Mathis drew it closer with a finger, pulling the bag across his desk slowly. This cell phone had been the most crucial piece of evidence collected. It had been given to him by Lisa Reisert, who told of snatching it from the hip of Jackson Rippner on the airplane, just after she had impaled his windpipe with a ball point pen.

Rippner was clean. He had never been arrested, had never been in any sort of trouble. His fingerprints, taken at the hospital, had been run through every system in existence, even Interpol, and had revealed Rippner to be spotless. Born in a Pittsburgh suburb and raised in Chicago. Married in 1998, divorced in 1999. He was employed by Digitech, based in San Jose, California, since 1999. A model citizen. Though he had been in a minor car accident a week ago here in Miami, Mathis had found.

Mathis picked up the fax from the cell phone company, which had been brought to him only minutes before. This complicated things. So far there was only circumstantial evidence, and the cell phone would have figured strongly into building a case against Rippner. But no longer.

The phone, purchased two months earlier in June, was registered to Lisa Henrietta Reisert.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lisa grabbed a throw pillow and held it close to her body, almost folding herself over it. She had barely slept. If she were asleep, she might miss an update. Her own name had yet to be mentioned on television thus far, but she knew it would be eventually. She dreaded it. But she had been unable to stop watching. If Jack died, she had to know. _He must have survived the surgery, _Lisa thought. _It's been almost two days._

Her eyes moved from the TV to the detective's index card on the table again. And the words of Detective Mathis resounded in her mind. "_Anything, Lisa. Anything at all, call me. You never know what might be important." _

_Jackson. _The memory played again in her mind, the same she'd relived countless times since. His gentle hand on her face, turning it towards his, worlds apart from the cruel vice-grip he'd employed in the bathroom. "_Were you interested in me?" _

The aching quality in his smooth tones had been a death blow to her resolve. With his simple question, Lisa had known the bittersweet truth of their tragic encounter. That Jackson yearned for her and was painfully aware of this; hating himself and her for it. But that hatred had not been enough to deter Lisa from responding to his desire.

Jack had kissed her and she had been powerless against it, his caress a force that she could only abandon herself to. She had almost fainted afterwards, sickened by the way her body had overridden her mind. Sickened by _him._

She had not told Mathis this one crucial detail about the flight. During the lengthy questioning yesterday, it had never seemed a good idea to reveal the kiss. And as the hours passed, she had begun to fear mentioning it, worried that the detectives would wonder at her delay. Worried how she would explain it. Because there _was_ no explaining it.

Lisa stood and began to pace restlessly. She wandered into the kitchen, chewing her lip. _I have to tell them. People saw it. _But how to justify such behavior with Jackson?

The phone rang, and Lisa seized it, checking the caller ID window. JACKSON MEM HOSP showed in the display. Lisa pressed a tremulous hand to her mouth. Yesterday, watching TV, she had found it ironic that they had taken Jackson to the hospital bearing his name. The phone rang again insistently.

She put the phone to her ear warily. "Hello?"

"Lisa Reisert?"

"Yes," Lisa swallowed.

"This is Jackson Memorial Hospital. We admitted a patient to our trauma center yesterday morning - a Mr. Jackson Rippner." Slowing her words, as if doubting her pronunciation.

Lisa's stomach twisted, her hand tightening on the phone.

The caller continued. "He underwent surgery here, and he's in our recovery center at this time."

Lisa, her back to her kitchen counter, felt the strength leaving her legs, as if she truly were receiving the news for the first time. As if Jackson were someone she cared for. She sank slowly until she was sitting on the tile floor. "Uh-huh," she breathed. Somehow, before the girl said more, Lisa knew what her words would be.

"Mr. Rippner has identified you as someone we need to reach. Now, at this time, he cannot receive visitors due to security concerns, but…"

Lisa took the phone from her ear and let it fall to her side, knuckles against the cool floor. With her thumb she pressed the button that ended the call. The beep echoed in the still room.

"Oh, God," she whispered. It wasn't over. Jackson had survived. And apparently his first thought upon awakening had been of her.

Lisa jumped up and hurried to the living room. With a shaking hand, she picked up Mathis' card from the table and started to dial his number.

But halfway through, her fingers slowed, then stopped. She punched the button that ended the call. _Do it. You have to tell them. _Lisa took a deep breath and began again, reaching the final number before hanging up once more, her heart pounding. "_Damn _it."

Every fiber of her rational mind screamed at her to make the call. Sitting down on her sofa, she put the phone on the table. It rocked slowly on its curved back.

Lisa stared sightlessly as the phone rocked itself to stillness. Extraordinary moments sometimes happened between two people; too pure for others to understand. Moments harshly judged by those who had not experienced them. Dream-like moments that almost were not real, when you did things you never thought possible, when, for the most painfully brief time, your soul flew.

_He asked for me. _

She was no fool. If Jackson had called for her, it was quite likely that self-preservation had figured heavily into his motive, though she knew it was not his only reason. She knew, and it was those other reasons that mattered; somehow bigger, more important, than the criminal case they were now entangled in. Lisa could not deny the twisted thrill that rose up in her at his attempt to contact her. Jackson inspired an upsetting fascination that was beyond anything she had ever felt, simultaneously attractive and terrifying.

And suddenly she knew that she had told the police all she intended to about the flight. She was innocent. Whether Jackson was put away for his crimes would depend on the investigation. Their kiss was irrelevant, no matter how scandalous. She would hold it within herself.

Jack's kiss belonged to her.

Angrily, she seized Detective Mathis' card from the table and tore it into shreds.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jackson slid the ice chip over his parched lips slowly, then into his mouth. He let it sit on his tongue, closing his eyes at the wonderful, cool oasis it created there.

"Better?" the nurse asked.

He opened his eyes. "Much," he replied, taking a second chip from the paper cup she had brought him and running it across his lower lip. "Much better." His voice was stronger, though still hoarse; as if bothered by laryngitis. "Thank you."

"How is your pain today?"

"I'll tell you, if you tell me what day it is," Jackson countered.

"It's Tuesday. Now, how's your pain, Jackson?" The nurse asked firmly.

"Not bad," said Jackson. He was extremely high; probably overmedicated. He could barely feel his own weight in the bed. Talking slowly but unable to make himself pick up the pace. "I can't seem to stay awake for long."

"That's okay. You need to sleep to heal. Just do what your body tells you to do," she said, busying herself with his IV.

Jackson suddenly remembered the last time he'd been awake. "Where's Lisa? Did anyone get hold of her?" he asked hopefully. He looked up at the young woman with beseeching eyes.

"I'll check on that. Just relax, Jackson."

Jackson watched her go. He placed another chip of ice into his mouth, exploring its rough surface with his tongue, and eyed the bag hanging by his bed with mistrust. _I can't even think. _And he needed to. Each time he awoke, he expected to find police or FBI waiting, ready to question him. Soon they would catch him awake.

Not that having a cop waiting in his room would be a bad thing necessarily. Now that Jackson had failed in the Keefe job, the only thing keeping him alive was the fact that he was in the hospital. His former employers would wash their hands of him, distancing themselves from the debacle in Miami. Brent Pearson was dead; Jackson had been shocked to see the man's broken body on the floor of Joe Reisert's house.

Pearson was dead. Keefe was alive. Jackson had been shot. And all because of Lisa Reisert.

_No, not just because of her. Because of me. _The morphine smoothed the rough edges of his guilt, making such an admission bearable. He'd been overconfident going into the job. From the first, it had never entered his mind that he might fail. Acutely aware of his disturbing fixation on Lisa till the end, he had made the poor decision of continuing on, too proud to divulge the ridiculous problem and lose the job.

Jackson had made his share of difficult decisions in life but there weren't many he would have called the worst mistake he'd ever made. Staying on the Keefe job definitely qualified. He had felt it that steamy night outside Carmelita's, sitting in the car and agonizing over whether or not to follow Lisa inside.

_Look where you are now_, he reproached himself, casting a dull eye about the hospital room. This loathsome building was only purgatory; true judgment awaited him upon his release. His body would heal, but Jackson had significant obstacles to clear before he could have his life back. He would have to stand trial. If he lived long enough to do so, given that his former employers would rather see him dead than in court.

The nurse had not returned, reluctant to tell him that they had not been able to reach Lisa. No doubt Leese had hung up on the hospital, then called the police. Jackson laughed in the quiet room, causing his lung to throb warningly. Calming himself, he glanced down at the plastic railing on the side of his bed. There were buttons to call the nurse, and he considered pushing one; wanting to pressure her into telling him why Lisa had not visited. It would be a good diversion until he passed out again.

There was a telephone built into the bed; he raised his eyebrows at it. Somehow he had failed to notice it before. He wondered if it had been turned off under police order. Jackson glanced at the doorway, carefully setting his cup of ice on a tray next to the bed, then pulled the receiver from its alcove in the side of the bed's railing. His hand was so relaxed that the phone almost slipped from his grasp.

Raising it to eye level, he read the instructions for obtaining an outside line. With half-numbed fingers, Jackson pressed the nine button and put the phone to his ear. A dial tone sang to him. He smiled, and replaced the phone in its holder.

Not now. Later.


	16. Chapter 16

Salt-scented wind tossed Jackson's hair as he ran along the sand. The moon was full, but it had not been his ally tonight; its cool light cast no shadows from human forms. The beach was empty. He had never seen it so deserted. _It must be later than I think._

Slowing his pace, Jackson looked down at his wrist. His watch was gone. Furrowing his brows, he jogged to a halt. He never took the watch off; how could he have lost it? He turned slowly. A cold apprehension crept into his body and curled up in his stomach like some repugnant parasite searching for a warm home. Something was wrong.

Setting off again, he ran faster. He could not shake the horrible sensation that at any moment…

A new anguish gripped him. _Leese! Where's Leese? _

_I lost her._

He ran. Ran so hard it seemed his lungs would burst.

_I lost her. I have to find her._

The Lexus was suddenly before him on the sand, parking lights glowing like lanterns in the dark. Its polished surface was oil-slick black in the moonlight; driver's door halfway open, waiting. The engine purred invitingly.

Jackson jumped in, slammed the door, and pressed his foot to the accelerator. The car's tires spun in the sand with a gritty whine, but the vehicle was mired. Winded from running, Jackson swore between gasps, a sharp pain assaulting his lung from the exertion. Smashing the gas to the floor in a final, angry effort, Jackson heard the engine rise to a fatal pitch, then die.

He fumbled for the door handle. He'd have to run again - all the way to her condo. His hand brushed something; he looked down. A phone, built right into the door's armrest. He seized it, and hurriedly pressed the succession of numbers he knew by memory.

-----------------------------------------------

Lisa awoke with an unpleasant start. In the other room, her phone was ringing. Glancing at the clock, she threw back the covers, dread swelling quickly. She ran into the living room without bothering to put on the lamp, guided by the phone's blinking red light.

"Hello?"

There was no answer. Lisa could hear quick, raspy breathing, as if someone had run to the phone to make the call. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. "Hello?" she repeated, her voice weakening.

"Leese?"

_Him. _

He called to her again, sounding anxious, breathless. And afraid.

"Lisa? Ah, shit, Leese…"

Lisa swung the phone away from her mouth, afraid he would hear her breathe, hear the tiny gasp that escaped. Jackson's voice was forever burned into her memory, but she had never heard it wrought by strain and worry like this. _Hang up. Hang up! _Lisa stood stock still in the dark.

She heard him pull in a long breath and groan. "Don't do this to me again. Not again… please…" The torment in his voice hit her like a punch in the gut, the sound of someone at their wit's end. His voice became muffled, as if the phone were covered by his hand.

Lisa licked her lips; her mouth had gone dry. Summoning all her courage, she shut her eyes before she spoke.

"Jack?"

-------------------------------------------------

The room was spinning. Jackson came around blearily, aware that inarticulate words were streaming softly from his lips. He was holding a phone in his lap; he squinted at it in bewilderment. The beach and the black Lexus were gone... he was in his hospital bed.

He had grabbed the telephone in his sleep. He cast it aside, shoving it back into its holder. The movement set off a tidal wave of nausea, and he tried to vomit over the side of the bed, but nothing came. Delirium whirled him in erratic spirals like a nightmarish carnival ride, his frenzied thoughts uncatchable and shadowy.

Jackson laid back, sweat-clumped hair fanning messily over the hospital pillow, and squeezed his eyes shut, holding onto the center of his consciousness with tenacity. The source of this new misery must be the heavy medication; he would have something to say about it the minute someone came back into his room. For now, he was forced ride it out. His fist clenched the white sheets determinedly.

In his suffering, the phone was forgotten.

---------------------------------------------------------

Lisa held the phone to her ear for another full minute, until the dial tone's return confirmed it - he had hung up.

She had known Jackson would call her; she had been braced for fury and vengeful language from him, but not for exhausted words fraught with anxiety. Jack's voice had been so different, so vulnerable.

Gently she placed the phone back in its holder, where it settled with a snug click. Her hand lingered upon it. If she checked the ID, she might be able to call him back. He'd sounded out of his head with desperation… but why? Her fingertips trailed off the phone halfheartedly.

Lisa moved back to her bedroom in the dark, wiping her clammy hands on her long sleepshirt. Climbing back into bed, she lay on her back and stared up into the dark, knowing sleep was out of her reach for the rest of the night.

"_We'll talk again," he'd said, and she had stretched the gun out towards him with both hands, willing him not to move, not to make her pull the trigger. _

Jackson still wanted to talk, and Lisa wanted to hear his words to her. No matter what they were, and even if they frightened her. Perhaps somehow they would bring closure, and put an end to the unnamable longing that had taken hold of her since the flight. A sense of wanting _more_… in the same way a new addict wants a second hit, when the thrill of the first has faded. Jackson was deadly poison, but he was in her veins now and she wanted more. _Needed _more.

Tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes, tears Jack would surely scorn. She had always done the right thing, it was how she recognized herself. But now she was making choices she knew to be wrong; choices that would harm her, like not contacting the police about Jack's call to her just now. And why? Because she could not get his voice out of her head, nor the mental image that went along with it; Jack laying in a dimly lit hospital room, lost and senseless with drugs and pain… abandoned.

Alone.

---------------------------------------------------

Mathis shifted his weight from side to side impatiently as he waited for the nurse's return. She had gone to see if Jackson Rippner was awake. After this morning's interview with the head flight attendant, Mathis could barely contain his eagerness to talk with Rippner.

Because the flight attendant had dropped a real bomb in her interview. As an impartial witness, she was valuable to start with. But now even more so, because she had told of seeing Rippner kissing Lisa Reisert late in the flight.

The flight attendant, Diane Littlefield, had clearly relished the importance of her observation, and had gone into great detail about Rippner being "all over her" - meaning Lisa Reisert. Mathis had been surprised at this revelation, and had asked for clarification.

"Was this consensual on Miss Reisert's part?"

"Oh, yeah," Littlefield had said, smirking. "I've been down that road myself. They seemed like they had one of _those_ relationships, if you know what I mean. One minute they're arguing, then the next they're going in the bathroom together. One minute they're making out in the seats, the next, she's stabbing him." She raised an eyebrow.

_A relationship. _Lisa's claim to have only met Rippner that night was now called into question even more.

The nurse approached. "He's awake. But his surgeon wants you to limit the interview to ten minutes."

Jackson Rippner was awake and alert, when Mathis entered the room. The man in the bed sported heavy stubble on hollow cheeks, and his scruffy dark hair was disheveled, but the piercing blue eyes that stared back at him were unmistakable. The very same he'd seen on Rippner's identification, no doubt about that.

-----------------------------------------

Relatively speaking, the interview was going well, Jackson thought. He took a sip of water and tried to sit up higher in his inclined bed. The detective had already long overrun his allotted ten minutes, and Jackson felt his energy flagging, but he felt good about his responses so far.

"So, you met Lisa in June, you said?" Mathis asked again.

"Yeah. I had only been in town a few days." Jackson shifted in the bed and winced. "Look, I can't tell you a specific date, if that's what you want. I'm not even sure I should be answering any questions right now; I have a hard time following _The Price is Right _these days, and…"

"Why did Lisa stab you, Jackson?" Mathis interrupted.

Jackson waited, letting the detective's bluntness hang in the air like an unstifled belch. "She found something." He gestured with his chin at the wallet in the plastic bag that the detective had brought with him. "In there."

Mathis rose from his chair against the wall and held out the wallet. "Show me."

Jackson took the wallet and opened it. _Please let it still be in there… _Poking his fingers into the leather innards, he felt the piece of paper and dragged it out. "This," he said, handing the folded white sheet to the detective. "I'm not proud of it, but this is what made her angry with me." He waited eagerly as Mathis unfolded the sheet.

"A car rental receipt."

"Look on the back," Jackson nodded at the reverse side of the paper, where he could see Vicky's handwriting. Her name and phone number, where she'd written it. Thank God he'd kept it.

Mathis read this. "Okay. Most women wouldn't be happy to find another woman's phone number in their boyfriend's wallet. I get that. But mad enough to stab you?"

"Yeah. Well, Vicky happens to be one of Lisa's friends."

"I see," Mathis said. One corner of his mouth twitched, as if he might laugh.

"And, as I've said, Lisa has a temper. I just didn't realize she was violent." Jackson idly scratched the stubble on his throat, just above the bandage, and watched the other man's eyes follow his hand. Drawing attention to the barbaric injury, not wanting it far from the detective's mind.

"Seems that Lisa isn't the only one with a temper, Jackson. You followed her to her father's house and assaulted her."

Jackson shrugged and laid back. The extensive talking was making him tired. "I have no defense for that. I just lost it. I mean, shit, she had just stabbed me in front of an airplane full of people. With a fucking _pen_." His eyes blazed.

Mathis was silent. "So you knew nothing beforehand about the call that she made to her hotel?"

Jackson shook his head again in his best impression of disbelief. "Everything you told me about Lisa - I just can't believe it. She wanted to use my credit card to call her hotel. I didn't ask why, I just handed her my wallet. Biggest mistake I ever made, apparently."

"But she used _her _card."

"Yeah. Because she found that slip of paper in my wallet with Vicky's number on it. We argued for most of the damn flight. I thought we'd smoothed things over, but she blew up about it again right when we landed."

"Back to the phone call. How did she sound when she made this call?"

Jackson shrugged. "Fine. She calls her hotel quite a lot. It didn't sound any different from any other time."

Mathis stared at him. "Lisa Reisert gives us an entirely different story, Jackson, as I told you." He rubbed his chin. "She tells us she first met you in the airport in Dallas. That you bought her a drink in the bar there. And that on the plane, you forced her to make that call to the hotel to change Charles Keefe's room by threatening her father."

Jackson shook his head in cheated incredulity and spat a bitter laugh. "Huh. Yeah. Looks like she was setting me up to take the fall for this for a couple of months now. And didn't she find the perfect sucker?" He was surprised to find that his eyes burned; miraculously he had conjured up the barest hint of betrayed tears.

Mathis ran a fingertip over his upper lip, his dark eyes boring into Jackson's. "How do you feel about Lisa, Jackson?"

_What are you, a fucking psychiatrist? _Jackson looked away for the first time during the interview, allowing time for a show of reflection. "I don't know. I…" he darted a glance at Mathis. "I don't know what I think about Lisa. I can't believe what she's doing to me now. And that she was involved in things like that."

"Is that why you tried to call her?"

Jackson furrowed his brows. "I haven't called Lisa. I gave her name to the staff here to call. But I didn't call her myself."

Mathis raised an eyebrow. "Well, Jackson, if you didn't, someone else must be in your bed with you who knows Lisa. Because at 2:57 last night, she received a call from this very hospital room. From this _bed_." Mathis gestured to the bed Jackson lay in. "I got the hospital phone records just before I came in to talk to you."

Jackson's mouth opened, but no words came. He hadn't called Lisa. But wait, last night… he'd woken up sick, from a nightmare… the phone had been in his lap. _Oh shit, is that what I was doing? I called Lisa? _Honest shock showed on his face and he could do nothing to prevent it. "Well, if I did, I wasn't aware of it. I was really sick last night, they had to change my medication. I woke up with the phone in my hand, but I hung it up." Jackson felt his nausea return at the horror that he had done something of which he was unaware. He _had _planned to call Lisa, had known everything he would say to her and was burning to say all of it; he didn't think he had done so already. _What did I say to her? _

He locked eyes with the detective, and folded his hands over his stomach patiently. It was upsetting to think he had called Lisa in his drugged delirium, but the more important point was that Mathis had found out about it from the hospital.

Not from Lisa.


	17. Chapter 17

"Looks like we're gonna get that storm," someone at the bar commented.

Vicky turned from the margarita glasses she was encrusting with salt to see the weather report on the TV. A tropical storm had blown up out of nowhere, and the track looked to take it straight over Miami. "Oh, great," she said sarcastically. "I almost have time to get ready for that." _Better get some gas on the way home tonight. And a jug or two of water… if there's any left in the stores by then. _

Finishing with the salt, she placed the glasses on a tray. Glancing up once more at the TV, she stopped cold, drawing in a sharp gasp. On the screen was a picture of a man, and even with the poor quality of the photo, Vicky recognized the man's remarkable blue eyes. "Oh, my God," she breathed. She walked closer to the TV in a trance.

"…_an arrest was made today in the Lux Atlantic bombing. A twenty-nine year old man, Jackson Rippner, was arrested at Jackson Memorial Hospital, where he is recovering from gunshot wounds sustained in a Coral Gables shooting early Saturday morning. Investigators refused to give details of the arrest, but said that Rippner denies involvement in the bombing."_

Vicky's mind raced. _John… he said his name was John. _She sank into a chair, ignoring the nearby patrons, frantically trying to remember everything he had said to her. Their walk on the beach… his lithe body moving against hers… his anger when she had thrown his cell phone. And her question to him: "_What sort of job would call you at midnight on Sunday?" _

She wanted to throw up. Rising slowly from the chair, she made her way back behind the bar and searched beneath the counter.

"Hey, Vicky, I'm drying up here. Gimme another beer before that hurricane hits," someone griped.

She ignored him. Finding the object of her search, she hauled the well-thumbed phone book from beneath the counter and flipped it open. Finding the non-emergency number for the police department, she grimly reached for the telephone.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jackson tugged the blanket back to reveal the electronic cuff around his ankle and, ignoring the stab of pain in his chest, leaned up to study it. It was a slap in the face to him.

He'd been arrested.

Of course, he had known he would be, but the reality of it was still hard to swallow. The cuff itself was absurd, since he had only today begun getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom, and not without nearly passing out along the way. Whoever thought he was capable of attempting an escape right now had never had to recover from double gunshot wounds.

_Conspiracy. Coercion. False Imprisonment. Assault. Battery. Burglary, even. _Jackson was surprised Lisa had not accused him of rape just to round out the list of offenses.

He flung the blanket over his foot again to obscure the insulting device, and laid back in the bed, blowing out a long, resigned sigh. His arrest did not mean an impending conviction; only that police had had probable cause. Nothing to panic over. Charges could be dropped at any time, and frequently were. Outside his window, beneath darkening skies, the palm trees swayed and danced in the increasing wind.

Monique, the young black nurse who tended him most evenings, entered the room. "Jackson, how do you feel tonight? You ready for Katrina?"

"What?" Jackson assumed Katrina was a nurse who would shortly enter the room with a dreaded cart full of instruments of torture. He'd learned the agony of having the dressings on his wounds changed, and was apprehensive that this was the beginning of some new and terrible routine.

"Katrina…" Monique reached up and changed the channel on his TV. Swirling off the coast of Miami was a large storm. "It's not bad, only Category One. Ever been through one of these?" She turned to him with a wicked grin.

"No, I can't say that I have. Let's have a party. You invite a few friends, and I'll give out morphine samples." Jackson smiled.

Monique laughed, and reached to change the TV back to the previous channel, but Jackson sat up quickly. "Wait…"

On the news - video of police escorting a young woman into the police station. The woman, head bowed, and handcuffed in front, was led by an officer at each elbow. A delicate, petite woman, whose russet hair billowed in the gusty wind, hiding her downcast face.

"_A second arrest has been made in connection with the Lux Atlantic bombing. Miami police today arrested Lisa Reisert, twenty-eight, the current floor manager of that hotel. Reisert has been employed with Lux Atlantic for five years, but fell under suspicion after police discovered she may have been romantically linked with Jackson Rippner, who was arrested yesterday."_

Jackson was confronted with a picture of himself displayed on the screen.

"_Reisert faces several felony charges, including accessory to conspiracy, battery, grand theft auto, and manslaughter - for striking and killing a salesman, Brent Pearson, with a car she stole from Miami International Airport. Reisert remains in custody tonight, as police continue the investigation."_

The story ended, and Jackson sat back. That much was done, then. Lisa was in jail. And yet, his triumph was diluted. Seeing Lisa with her head hung, so small between the officers... he felt satisfaction, yes, but tainting this was an unfamiliar pang of regret. Lisa would be distraught at her arrest. Though her stay in jail was likely to be short - her father would bail her out if bond was not set too high; she could possibly be home by the weekend.

Jackson pensively turned his gaze to the worsening storm outside, and Monique moved closer to his bed.

"Was that your girlfriend on TV?"

Jackson did not look at her. As he watched, the gale tore a straining frond from one of the palm trees and sent it sailing over the roof of the hospital. "I don't think I should talk about it," he said. "I'm sorry."

Monique, seeing his abrupt change in mood, checked his fluids in silence, then left.

Lisa had been arrested. _Good. _Jackson stretched his left arm back behind his head, waiting for vindication to pleasure him. But the emotion had left him cold, like a lover withholding her affections. Why could he not feel what he wanted, expected to? His eyes never left the fury outside, even when the lights in his room flickered.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The power went out. Lisa glanced up as the emergency lighting came on in the corner of the room by the ceiling.

"Don't worry, Lisa." Mathis shifted the tape recorder out of his shadow so that he could see its controls better. "This building is solid. You're probably safer here than you would have been in your condo." He had yet to turn on the recorder, but his thumb rubbed the buttons readily. "Would you be willing to take a polygraph test? It can be admissible in Florida, and I think you'll pass."

Lisa peered at the detective, but with the light behind and above him, his face was harder to see.

Mathis pushed the recorder away and leaned on the table towards her. "Lisa. Why didn't you tell us that Rippner kissed you during the flight?" His tone was academic, without a trace of anger or outrage. "Did you think no one would understand? I know that people under extreme stress can do things _very_ out of character, Lisa. I see it time and time again."

Lisa did not move. In the stillness, she could hear the wind buffeting the building: a long, deep thrumming that was punctuated by occasional cricks and thumps from overhead. All hell was breaking loose out there. But inside her, there was only a numbness that went to her bones, a lethargy that had settled in the moment the officers had shown up at her door.

"Lisa." Mathis' silhouette tilted its head at her. "For what it's worth, I believe your version of events is the correct one. But you have some real problems with your case, and it's a jury that you'll have to convince. Jackson Rippner is not going to fall on his sword for you."

That did it; knowing that someone believed her broke the thin barrier of control, and she slumped forward in her chair, crying. She had not allowed herself to let go since the flight, and now the frustration, pain and betrayal flowed free in huge, coughing sobs that collapsed her onto the table.

Lisa laid her cheek flat on the scratched and scarred wood, burying her face beneath her arms, as her body shook with the effort of crying. She felt as though she were grieving for something that had been taken from her, and in the next moment she knew what it was - her life. Her former life was dead, and she knew only this new existence: one of stoical police, cameras thrust at her, suspicious stares. And all because of Jackson.

Mathis let her cry, and when she sat up at last, eyes streaming, he handed her a tissue.

"Is that why you arrested me? Because he _kissed _me?" Lisa blurted. She swiped at her dampened face in shame and anger. "Because I was terrified of him and too scared _not _to do whatever he said?" Even as she said the words, Lisa knew the truth. _You liked it, you didn't want him to stop…_

She got up suddenly, as if action would break off the unnerving thought. Walking away from the table, she stood in the corner, back to Mathis, gathering herself.

Mathis spoke. "You were arrested because the investigation has produced probable cause that you were involved in the Lux Atlantic bombing, and for the death of Brent Pearson. Now, there's not a lot I can do about that, Lisa. But I can tell you that the witnessed physical contact with Rippner _is_ going to hurt you, and you _are _going to have to defend it somehow in court."

Lisa turned to face him again, arms folded tightly over her chest.

"I'm not your lawyer, Lisa. And seeing as your lawyer probably isn't going to make it here because of the storm, most likely this interview isn't going to happen tonight. But what you need to know is this…" Mathis stood, and his silhouette seemed to darken further. "Whatever else you are keeping to yourself about Rippner, about the flight - it needs to be told. The more information you conceal, the worse it's going to come down on your head later. I'm telling you this because I know he's a liar, Lisa."

Fresh tears coursed down her raw cheeks. "What has he been telling you about me?" _I have to know._

"In short? That he is a businessman working in Miami temporarily; that he met you in June and that you have had a relationship since. And that he's very bitter that you would set him up to take the blame for your crime this way."

"_Me_? I set _him_ up?" Lisa poked her own chest with a finger, mouth agape in shock. Then the preposterousness struck her, and she laughed. She imagined Jackson in the hospital, playing the jilted and betrayed lover. No doubt his performance had been marvelous; she knew all too well his ability to project whatever persona he desired. Laughing harder, she bent double, wondering if Jackson had laughed as well, after Mathis had left his room.

Mathis seemed to be grinning; the sides of his silhouetted cheeks bulged upwards. "Yeah. Pretty good try on his part. But like I said, it's a jury we have to be concerned with. And as I'm sure you know, Rippner can be very convincing."

That sobered her. She returned to her chair and sank onto it, tucking a foot beneath her. "What can I do?"

"Start by telling me about the phone call Jackson made to you the other night."

The room fell silent once more. Lisa folded and turned the damp tissue in her hands, staring blankly at it as if it were a complicated origami. A moment ago, she had felt anger towards Jackson, true anger. But remembering his desperate call to her shifted everything back into that disturbing gray area where she had existed for the better part of a week - the place in her mind where a different Jackson resided. The Jackson of the pleading eyes she had seen briefly in the airplane bathroom, the soft voice later entreating her to kiss him…the vulnerability she'd heard from him on the phone.

She looked up at Mathis again, hoping she was making eye contact with him. "Not without my attorney."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chris Jenkins, known as Asshole in the mind of Jackson Rippner, was already bored. The power in his apartment had gone out three hours ago, and he could think of no activity to fill his time that did not require electricity. The useless PS2 sat on the floor amid tangled cords, and his television stared dumbly back at him.

Another beer, then. He started for the refrigerator, then reversed directions suddenly. He'd remembered the little battery-powered television his mother had given him after last year's hurricanes in Vero Beach. Lighting his way with a flashlight, he poked around in the bottom of his closet beneath old sneakers and Maxim magazines until he located it. "Whazzup!" he greeted it, pulling it free of the rubble.

Setting it on the armrest of his battered couch, he shone the flashlight over its rear end until he found the controls, and turned it on. Adjusted the volume, and tuned in a strong local station. Yeah, they were right in the middle of this one - the radar showed the hurricane sitting its fat ass right on top of Miami and spinning.

He got up to have a look out the window, but in the dark there was not much to see. Just howling wind and someone's car alarm going off somewhere else in the complex. Turning back to the couch and his tiny TV, his attention was seized. "What the…" Two faces - two pictures, side by side. One was of the girl he'd met at that beach bar a couple weeks ago. The snobby one, the one he'd started to follow home. The other picture was of a man he recognized even more quickly.

Because you never forgot the face of a man who'd pointed a gun at you.

"Mother _fucker_!…"


	18. Chapter 18

_Don't cry._

Lisa gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward, looking up through her windshield to the section of the Lux Atlantic where construction crews busied themselves repairing suite 4080. Making it beautiful again. The sky beyond was a crystalline blue, as it always was after a big storm.

Leaning back, Lisa looked at the letter on the seat beside her - the letter of termination from the Lux corporate office. _I've been fired. _She had to repeat it to herself again to believe it - _I've been fired. _And still no tears came, though her job was the crux of her life; the one place she had counted on getting back to some semblance of routine after her arrest and before the trial would begin months from now. But no more.

Once Lisa had been officially charged with conspiring to blow up her place of employment, Lux Atlantic had not hesitated to discharge her, despite her prior glowing reputation. The criminal case was nationally known, and her mere presence at the hotel would ward off paying customers. It was that simple.

Lisa started her car, for the first time thankful she did not own a more expensive vehicle. It would have been hard to make the payments now. She spotted a figure running toward her and waited before putting the car in reverse. It was Cynthia, red hair flying. Lisa lowered her window.

"Oh, my God, Lisa." Cynthia put both hands on her cheeks in an almost comical display of shock. "I can't believe it. I'm so sorry." Her large eyes were tearing up.

"Don't…" Lisa said, smiling bravely. Cynthia looked more upset than she was herself; certainly she was more surprised. "It's okay. I knew it was coming."

"You'd think they could at least wait for the trial..." Cynthia shook her head in astonishment.

"They can't take that chance, Cynthia. It's okay. Really. Oh, I wrote down my password on a pad for you, look in my office…" Lisa almost choked on the words. _I don't have an office anymore._

Seeing her falter, Cynthia reached through the car's window and hugged her around the shoulders. "Are you going to try to come back after the trial's over?"

Lisa drew away, blinking back hot tears. "I don't know yet. Let's just see what happens."

Leaving, she backed out of her space… _for the last time_, she could not help thinking, and waved to Cynthia again before exiting onto the street.

In a daze, she drove. The loss of her job, her career, sat like a leaden weight in her gut. _What am I going to do now? _The enormity of it was almost too much to grasp. Two weeks ago, as she had watched Jackson Rippner being moved from her father's floor to the waiting ambulance, she had thought the ordeal over. Never would she have thought that Jackson would continue to trample and ravage her very life, ripping it apart into unrecognizable elements.

She had been arrested. Arraigned. Had endured the agony of seeing her father's tears when he had picked her up from jail, after nearly bankrupting himself to secure the enormous bond. And now her job was gone.

As if all of that were not enough, she saw herself on the news every day, always linked with Jackson and accompanied by all manner of speculation. The usual allegation, that she and Jackson were lovers and co-conspirators, would please him to no end.

_He's ruining my life. _

Lisa's eyes lifted to the large building looming ahead, and she moved into the turn lane. _Jackson Memorial Hospital. _

Slowly she drove through the parking lot, meandering up and down row after row, as if searching for the right space. But her attention was on the building itself, and she glowered at it as if it were a living entity.

_He_ was in there.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was standing up, and it almost felt good. Jackson drew in a long, deep breath and expelled it slowly. A twinge, but not a bad one. His doctor had informed him not an hour before that he might be released within days.

He had a decision to make.

What it essentially came down to was fight or flight. With his arrest, he was now expected to stand trial, but that was months in the future. Upon bonding himself free, which he thankfully had the resources to do, he would be subject to certain limitations as a high flight-risk defendant. He would be required to establish a residence in Miami to prove his intent to be present in court. In other words, he would have to keep up his charade of wrongfully accused businessman for a while longer.

Or he could run.

Jackson walked to the hospital window and leaned on the sill, eyes playing over the outside world he had been cut off from for two weeks. Once he bonded out, the electronic cuff would be removed, and he could indeed flee. Going underground was never easy, and would be more difficult yet without the connections of his organization. But it was the sanest course of action, and the one most likely to grant him more years of life.

The other option was to stay put. Set up residence in Miami and go through the motions of the trial. Thanks to his foresight and inventive thinking, he had a decent chance of beating the charges; probably about fifty-fifty - not bad, considering. But staying in town was treacherous after his colossal failure in the Keefe job. Somewhere, someone from the organization was waiting for him, ready to put him down like a broken racehorse.

And though she might not have realized it, that same person was waiting for Lisa, too. She was never supposed to survive after the flight. And now, with the media every day proclaiming her collusion with him in the Lux conspiracy, there was more reason than ever for his former associates to remove her from the scenario.

Jackson ran a hand back through his hair in the distracted way he always did when he was on edge. Not much time to decide. Only days.

He leaned further on the sill, wishing the window could be opened so that he might inhale real air. Hurricane debris from last week remained down below; branches and broken limbs littered the grassy areas around the parking lot, and water was still pooled in dark, dirty puddles in lower areas. His gaze swept over the panorama. That car he'd seen circling in the parking lot below…

A silver Camry.

As Jackson watched, the car reached the end of one row and turned to cruise down the next, and he saw the white flower decal in the back window, even from his third-floor vantage point.

_Leese._

The car had been driving around the lot for some time and he'd seen it without really noticing, but suddenly it took on incredible significance. Excited now, his eyes gleamed as he leaned forward, almost touching the glass. "What are you doing here, Leese…?" he murmured to her. "Coming to visit?"

The Camry reached another aisle's end and stopped, facing the hospital. Jackson could almost see Lisa inside, but the glare from the noon sun on the windshield obscured her from him. "Come on. You're already here. Might as well go all the way," he coaxed softly.

-------------------------------------------------

_What am I doing here? _Lisa stared at the side of the hospital, her eyes raking each window. Surely she wasn't considering visiting Jackson, was she? Her attorney had advised her against exactly that, as if knowing she had thought about doing so -"_Whatever you do, Lisa, do _not _visit Jackson in the hospital. It would be incredibly damaging to your case. And you could end up back in jail if you do, because Jackson has filed a restraining order against you."_

Lisa's hands tightened on the steering wheel until she heard her knuckles creak. _A restraining order. How insulting. _Being in the same room with Jackson Rippner again was a frightening idea, and yet she had been drawn to this parking lot… as near to him as she dared. While her life crumbled, Jack lay in bed, in this very building, contentedly orchestrating her fall.

_No. I won't do this. I have _that _much sense left, _Lisa decided. Giving the wheel a furious twirl, she sped out of the parking lot.

----------------------------------------------

Jackson lifted his chin to watch Lisa's car merge back into traffic on the main road beyond the hospital. She had lost her nerve.

Disappointed, he moved away from the window and sat in a chair. Anywhere but the bed; he was sick of the sight of it. He was surprised that Lisa would have come so close to disregarding the restraining order; surely her lawyer would have informed her of it. The protective order had been another touch to add credibility to his domestic disturbance defense, a final flourish in his painting of Lisa as a jealous, violent girlfriend.

Lisa had to have known about it. Yet, she had ventured so close to where he was. This excited him and roused excruciating curiosity to know her reasons. Jackson looked down at the electronic cuff around his ankle. Perhaps it was a good thing Lisa's courage had failed her; he did not want her to see him as he was now. Not haggard and thin from the bodily trauma - his masculine pride could not stand for that. Whenever he faced Lisa again, he would be healthy and strong.

If either of them lived long enough.

Lisa probably had no idea that she was still a target; this time by someone whose only goal was her elimination. Someone who most likely had already begun watching her; waiting for the perfect opportunity.

Jackson stood again and went back to the window, as if Lisa's car would still be within sight. Now that his physical condition had improved enough to allow him think outside of himself, he began to feel a sense of infringement at the idea of someone besides himself following Lisa, an uncomfortable sense of envy. And the first flares of anxiety that that person would get to her. He needed Lisa alive if he planned to stay in Miami and go through with the trial, needed her to take the fall for him. It seemed that he always needed Lisa for something, her fate had become irreversibly entwined with his.

Fight, or flight? Jackson surveyed the traffic, gazing at the hot glitter of sunlight on glass and steel; and then the city itself. Here, in Miami, he had a purpose, something to drive him, and he had never shied from battle.

He grinned in spite of the danger… or maybe because of it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Just like old times, Leese._

Lisa's Camry was in front of her condo, collecting condensation in the humid night air. Everything appeared the same as it had weeks ago, when last he had been here. Jackson cruised past without stopping. He could almost pretend that the disastrous flight had never occurred; that it was still mid-August and he was high on his own arrogance. That he had yet to meet Lisa, or to know of her devastating effect on his life.

The single pass had exhilarated him, but he drove on. There was no sign of any former associates of his in the immediate area of her condo, but the odds of running across them near Lisa were slim. After all, they had no need to shadow her constantly, as he had done. They needed only one chance, and sooner or later, they would have it.

Jackson winced; the familiar, dull pain in his chest was returning. He had pushed himself too much on his first day out of the hospital, but he had not wanted to go to his new home and settle in for the night without first verifying that Lisa still lived in the same place. Now he knew, and he headed toward his new home; a mere ten minutes from Lisa. He was dead-tired.

Arriving at the exclusive subdivision, he pulled up outside the large, iron gate and reached through the car's window to punch the four-digit code into the keypad. The gate slowly swung inward to admit him, and Jackson again felt grateful that his assets had not been frozen. He'd been able to post bond and had still had enough money to acquire the home in this gated community. Security was now his greatest concern.

Parking the leased BMW in the garage, he lowered the door and entered his new home.

Silence greeted him.

Sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, Jackson took a moment to look over the room. He had been lucky enough to find a model home for sale, fully furnished and decorated, though he did not care for the stupid rooster theme of this particular room. It didn't matter; he would not be living here long in any case.

He unfolded the newspaper on the table and riffled through it. Establishing contact with Lisa again was going to be a tricky endeavor. To approach her directly was impossible; she would call the police. But if he could get her to meet him halfway, under safe but private conditions…

Jackson found the page of the newspaper he was looking for, and began reading. After a minute he sat back, satisfied.

_Tomorrow._

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The woman was staring. Nothing covert in her attention either; an outright open stare. Lisa tightened her lips and reached for the jar of pasta sauce on the shelf; she put the item in her cart and hurried on, shaking her head. Glancing back, she saw the woman still goggling at her, her forgotten shopping list hanging from her hand.

"Unbelievable," Lisa muttered under her breath, and moved to the next aisle. It was happening more and more often. She was being recognized in public now, the uncomfortable and invasive result of her image being shown almost daily on television. An increasing percentage of people were giving her second looks, jabbing one another with elbows, and commenting out of the sides of their mouths in her presence. It was unnerving and tiresome, and made her errands something to dread.

_Should I color my hair blonde? Cut it short? _She had begun to consider such a change to her appearance if it would lessen the stares. As she moved through the store, Lisa tried to ignore the other shoppers, and concentrated on filling her cart. She bought twice as much as… _before,_ as she always thought now. Grocery shopping was becoming so nerve-wracking that she wanted to have enough food to delay the need to return to the store.

Reaching the check-out line at last, she braced herself. This was where she most often endured long looks… even angry glares. Unloading the cart onto the conveyor, her eye was drawn to the magazine rack just above it. She froze.

_Oh, God, no… _Her Lux Atlantic portrait, next to Jackson's photo from his driver's license - side by side, as they were usually shown on the news. Only now, they were on the cover of TIME magazine, beneath the dour red headline **_The New Faces of Terror? _**The caption below - _Who was responsible? The California Businessman? The Rising Star of the Prestigious Hotel? Both? The Sensational Case Grips a Nation…_

_Oh, my God. _Lisa seized the first copy of the magazine and flipped it over on the rack so that the back cover faced outward, knowing it was a pointless thing to do. Her heart pounded, and she quickened her pace in moving the groceries out of the cart with shaking hands. This was the worst yet.

Outside, Lisa hurried across the parking lot in the heat, shoving the cart along before her, not caring that the exertion was making her sweat through her clothes. Getting out of here and going back home was all that mattered. As she neared her car, her eye was drawn again to the long, ugly scar down its polished flank - someone had keyed it a few days before - and her stomach wrenched. When she had first discovered the vandalism, her thoughts had immediately gravitated toward Jackson; but he had still been in the hospital then.

_The hospital released Jackson yesterday… _the thought filled her with a mix of emotions. Dread that he would come after her again. Anger that he had been able to bond out, and that he might very well disappear; taking no punishment for his crimes.

Loading her groceries into the car, Lisa tried to vanquish the worst of the emotions Jackson's release had stirred: excitement. The sick thrill of wanting to see him again, if only from afar. She had tried to deny it, but the irrational connection she felt with him had not faded over the weeks, even as her anger toward him had grown.

As Lisa slid into the front seat of her car, her eye was drawn to something sticking out from beneath her windshield wiper, and her heart skipped a beat. It was a small slip of paper, its edges fluttering in the hot breeze. Rising slowly, she slipped it from beneath the wiper and returned to her seat, closing the door. Swallowing hard, she read the bold handwriting:

_**One chance-**_

_**Today**_

_**Cocowalk 16 Movie Theater**_

_**Matinee Showing **_

_**Chick Flick **_

_**J.**_


	19. Chapter 19

The enormous façade of the movie theater towered over Lisa, and she glanced back to her car, her means of escape suddenly very attractive. She faced the building again, her courage wilting.

Jackson Rippner was in there.

Standing before the multiplex cinema in the glare of the hot sun, Lisa clutched Jackson's note tighter. There were not many cars in the parking lot, and the box office looked dark. It was just after one o'clock in the afternoon, and the teens that normally crowded the cinema had returned to school weeks ago. Lisa moved haltingly toward the glass-fronted box office until she was close enough to read the lighted display of movies that were playing.

_A chick flick… _Jackson's condescension bled through in that simple description. Her eyes darted from title to title, searching for the sort of movie that would fit, and with despair she realized that most of the films were unfamiliar to her.

Why had he arranged this meeting? What more did he want from her? He must have set it up in a public place so that she would feel safe enough to show up, and yet in such a way that no one would witness them together. Though her knees quivered in apprehension, severe curiosity propelled her forward.

The girl working the box office looked up and gave a half-hearted smile.

"Hi," Lisa began. Her mouth opened again, and she paused. "Um, I'm not really sure what movie to see," she said, with a sheepish laugh.

"That happens," the girl grinned. "Well, maybe I can help. What are you in the mood for?"

Lisa licked her lips; her mouth had gone dry. "Do you have any romantic comedies?"

"We have _Must Love Dogs_," the girl suggested.

"Is that the only…"

"Chick flick?" the girl finished for her. "Yep, it's only one showing right now. And you're lucky, it starts in twenty minutes."

Lisa pulled cash from her purse and pushed it across the counter beneath the glass, thankful that her trembling hands went unnoticed.

Inside, a gangly guy tore her ticket and handed her back the stub. "To your left. You'll have it pretty much to yourself," he informed her, as if that indicated her poor choice of movie.

"Thanks," Lisa muttered thickly.

Like a chill wind, fear washed over her as she neared the door to the theater. Perhaps Jackson was waiting to finish her off as he had wanted to do at her father's house, and she'd been foolish enough to come. Lisa closed her eyes for several seconds, hoping for some sort of guidance from an inner voice, some instinct that would warn her of a possible ambush, but none came. Finally, she squared her shoulders and pushed the door open.

The smells of old popcorn, stale air and floor cleaner filled her nostrils. She did not look at the movie screen, which was showing a slideshow of local advertisements, and focused instead on the floor, so that her eyes would adjust more quickly. Her heart was beating so rapidly she thought she might faint, and she leaned against the wall. After taking several long, deep breaths, she walked to the front of the theater and faced the rows of empty seats.

Someone was sitting in the back row, in the farthest corner.

Licking parched lips, Lisa started up the lighted stairway, a slick of cold sweat in her lower back. With each step, she saw the figure more clearly. Dark hair. Strongly-boned face. And, when she finally reached his row and stood within a dozen feet of him, she saw his eyes. _Those _eyes.

"Lisa." Jackson sat coolly in his dark corner, elbows on armrests, hands laced loosely before him. When she did not move, he raised his eyebrows slightly. "Could you come a little closer than that?"

"Fine," Lisa said, and moved into his row. She stopped a few seats away, and plunged her hand into her purse. "I brought mace with me," she said warningly.

"You don't have to sit next to me."

"I don't plan to." She sat two empty seats away from Jackson, out of his reach.

There was an appraising moment as each studied the other, and Lisa absorbed the impact of seeing Jackson again. His hair was a little longer than she had remembered it. He had a day or two's worth of stubble upon his cheeks, which seemed thinner than before. But she had only known him for one day - three hours out of her life; so her recollection might be unreliable. One thing had not changed… that Jackson was startlingly handsome.

"So," she began conversationally, "Am I not violating a restraining order by coming here?"

"You are," Jackson affirmed, "but since I invited you, I'll let it slide." His eyes settled on her, robbed of their intense blue by the dim lighting.

Another long moment passed as Lisa waited for Jackson to speak again, but he seemed satisfied with the silence. Aloof, he regarded her as though she were a stranger to him. As if he had never pinned her to the wall in an airplane bathroom, never seduced a kiss from her, never lain on her father's floor with blood spreading over his shirt.

Infuriated that Jackson did not outwardly acknowledge their brief but violent history, Lisa could no longer bear the tense stillness. "Why are you doing this to me?" she blurted. "Everything you've told the police is a lie. Do you have any idea what I've gone through the last few weeks? I can barely leave my house," she vented.

"And how is that different from the way you lived before…?" Jackson queried with mocking smoothness.

Lisa was surprised at the power of her own anger so soon upon seeing him. "You ruined my _life_," she said with slow fury.

Jackson's expression soured. "Likewise, Leese," he said with a caustic tilt of the head, his eyes narrowing slightly.

His sarcasm set off a firestorm of even greater anger within her. She had come into the theater emotionally neutral, unsure what the conversation would be about; and unsure of what Jackson's attitude towards her would be. But already he was provoking her by implying that his misfortune was her fault.

"You ruined your _own_ life, Jack. Now, what do you want with me?"

--------------------------------------------

She had called him Jack again… and just to piss him off. He had to look away from her furious eyes - her temper stoked his own; was fuel to the fire of rage within him that he was so far keeping under control. Sweeping his gaze over the seats arrayed below them to make sure no one else had entered the theater, he gritted his teeth and counted to ten before turning to Lisa again. "I wanted to talk to you because there are things you need to know. So all I want from you right now is to listen."

"I've heard this before. But you know what? This time, you don't have two aces up your sleeve, Jack. I don't have to listen to anything you say."

"Right… but if you didn't _want _to hear what I have to say, you wouldn't be here," Jackson went on softly, leaning forward. "Would you?"

She was silent. And, incredibly, she relaxed a fraction, though anger still shone in her eyes. She crossed her legs defiantly. "Well…? I left groceries in my car to come here for this."

_As if you're taking time out of your busy schedule… _Jackson felt his blood pressure rising. She was trying his patience with her show of newly discovered feminine bravado. "This isn't about your personal empowerment, Lisa. This is about whether you want to live or die."

Lisa gave a small start, but stayed in her seat. Her eyes flicked to his hands, as if expecting him to draw a weapon. Jackson waited, studying her body language. Though Lisa had made a bold display of anger, she could not hide her fear; the white collar of her blouse fluttered with the pounding of her heart.

"The reason I wanted to speak to you, Lisa, is to tell you something the police probably have not." He focused attentively on her, and spoke in a low voice. "I'm sure that right now they have you concerned with things like whether or not you'll pass a polygraph, or if you'll be able to convince a jury that you kissed me because you were afraid of me."

Alarmed recognition registered on Lisa's face at his accuracy.

Jackson's eyes pierced hers. "None of that will matter, Lisa, if you stay in Miami. Because you'll be dead."

Lisa's face slackened. She bobbled in her seat again, as if fighting a powerful urge to escape, but stayed rooted where she was. "Are you threatening me?"

"No. I'm warning you."

"Am I supposed to believe that? Last time I saw you, you were coming down my father's stairs with a knife in your hand," she viciously reminded him.

Jackson looked away in frustration. Everything was so easily categorized for Lisa; people were either good or bad. They either wanted you dead, or they did not. She had no notion of the indecisive anguish, the mental struggle he had endured over whether or not to eliminate her after the flight as he had been directed. She did not know, nor would she believe it. But the instant she had stabbed him, she had shattered his uncertainty. Luckily for her, time had smoothed the worst of his rage - and now the circumstances had changed.

"I'm not going to waste time arguing with you. My former employers have by now sent someone to Miami to clean up my mess. Or, rather, _your _mess, Leese." Taming his annoyance, he faced her again. "I can't protect you this time… now it's up to you. Move in with someone. Get a gun. Or a dog. But the best thing you can do is leave town. I mean it." He stared at her icily.

----------------------------------------------------

Lisa furrowed her brows. "_I can't protect you this time…" _he'd said. What did that mean? "Wait a minute," she said, holding up her hands as if warding off an unwanted advance. "Excuse me if none of this makes sense. _You _were the one who wanted to finish me off," she said harshly.

Jackson shook his head. "Not this time. I need you now."

"What for?" Lisa said mistrustfully. Her eyes darted from his face to his hands, still half-expecting some sudden attack from him. Then the ugly truth of his concern dawned on her. "Oh, you want me alive so that I'm around to go to prison for what you did. So that your name is cleared. Is that it?"

"That's it," Jackson said easily, sounding almost pleasant.

"I should have known," Lisa spat. Eyeing him up and down, she curled her lip in revulsion. "You're sick. You know, for a minute there, I thought you were just concerned for my life. But it's always about _you_."

"Not completely. We both get something out of it. I get exonerated, and you get to live. Work with me, Leese," he joked.

Lisa shook her head vehemently. "I'm not going to prison for this."

"Well, _somebody_ will," Jackson said. "And right now, you have just as good a chance as I do. Who knows… maybe they'll convict both of us together," he suggested cheerfully.

"Oh, no, they won't," Lisa denied. "There's no history between us, Jack. Nothing that's going to stand up in court."

Jackson became serious again. "If we _make_ it to court, Lisa."

Lisa was silent. After a moment, the implications sank in, and she put a hand over her face. "I don't know what you expect me to do. I'm not even sure I believe you. Do you think I'm just going to pack my things and run away like I've done something wrong? I can't do that."

Jackson leaned on his armrest, trying to close the distance between them. "Don't tell me you can't," he said quietly, his eyes boring into hers. "I've seen what you're capable of when you want to save your skin. You smashed a man through the wall of a house with an SUV…remember? And you shot me."

"You act as if I enjoyed doing those things," Lisa hissed.

"Oh, I think part of you did. When you stabbed me, there was anger behind it… I felt it," he whispered furtively, seeing the truth confirmed in her eyes. "You've only begun to realize what you can do, Leese," Jackson continued, his tone almost seductive. "So I don't want to hear what you _can't _do."

With a shock, Lisa understood that Jackson was expressing something akin to admiration for her brutal actions. The idea set off a landslide of bizarre emotions in her. Disgust that he held such behavior in high regard. Guilt that her deeds had caused such suffering. And, worst of all… pride. Secretly, it mattered to her what Jackson thought of her, and she was filled with breathless appreciation at the fact that he no longer viewed her as weak.

The theater darkened. The slideshow stopped, leaving the movie screen and the entire room black. Lisa pressed herself back in her seat, and groped for the pepper spray, but she heard nothing from Jackson's corner. In another heartbeat, the previews had begun, and he was illuminated with flickering light. He had not moved.

Lisa peered at his throat, searching for the scar that must be there, but it was hidden in shadow. She found herself wondering what the other scars she had inflicted looked like, and how he felt about them. Even though he had nearly died because of them, he seemed to want her to dwell on the horrible acts she'd committed.

"I don't ever want to do things like that again," Lisa said decisively, cloaking her inner conflict.

Jackson looked at her impassively, but Lisa thought she detected the merest hint of disappointment in his eyes. Burdened by his focus on her, she pivoted the conversation back to him with a burning question. "Why did you call me from the hospital, Jack?"

Something came alive in his eyes, but he shifted them away before she could see what it was. He cleared his throat with obvious unease, checked his watch, then stood.

Seeing him stand over her, Lisa felt a surge of fear, though he was two seats away. "Where are you going?" she asked nervously. She had more questions - though she was unsure whether she believed anything he had said - and now he was going to leave.

As he moved toward her, she shrank back in her seat, afraid to stand; afraid for her body to be in full-length closeness with his as he passed. Tightening her knees together until they trembled, she dared to look up as he brushed by.

Jackson paused before her, and for a moment, everything froze. She saw every small detail of him: the dark wings of hair laying along his neck, the highlight on a cheekbone as he looked down at her, even the fringe of his eyelashes.

"Shhhh…" he hushed, as if there were other theatergoers she was disturbing. He cupped her chin in his palm momentarily, then continued past. "Watch your movie. You paid for it." A last, quick shot from his blue eyes, and he had moved away.

Lisa watched him go, still feeling the ghost of his swift caress. Jackson made his way down the stairs and reached floor level, never looking back at her, even as he turned the corner to exit the theater. Alone, Lisa sat as if paralyzed. She turned to look at Jackson's seat; the empty corner now utterly devoid of interest without his presence.

He had not harmed her.

Unaccustomed to the new dynamic between them; that she was free to leave his company, and he hers, Lisa stared vacantly into his corner for several minutes. As the movie began, she could only wonder if any credence should be given to words that came from the mouth of Jackson Rippner.

Was someone waiting to kill her? If so, why had Jackson warned her? Why had he not simply left town himself and abandoned her to her terrible fate? It was out of the question that Jackson would have suddenly grown a conscience and did not want her to be killed.

_Why, then?_

The entire movie played unnoticed by Lisa, and she had still not moved by its end.


	20. Chapter 20

It was an addiction, not an obsession, Jackson had decided. Addiction implied outside forces at work upon a person, whereas obsession seemed to suggest a mental defect. And he would not accept mental deficiency in himself. So addiction it was, then… or simply a bad habit. Because even if Lisa's life had not been endangered, he knew he would be precisely where he was right now.

His BMW skulked past Lisa's condo. It was three o'clock in the morning.

He knew her street like the back of his hand. Was so familiar with her condo, and the space her car was parked in that it was as through he had lived there himself. And the truth was, Lisa's condo was more home to him than his new house was. He sorely missed the web cam that had once been ensconced in Lisa's living room to reassure him of her activities. But the web cam could not have told him what he now needed to know most - whether someone was lurking outside her home. Right now, no one was.

Accelerating on, he took a sip of his soda and rubbed tired eyes. Yes, this was a bad habit indeed - one that could land his ass in jail if Lisa happened to look out her window and identify him engaging in classic stalker behavior. And he did not trust that she would not call the cops on him. Lisa was in a state of confusion right now, and probably had not believed his warning. A week had passed since their meeting in the movie theater, and there had been no sign that Lisa was taking steps to move from her condo.

Jackson drove on, and his thoughts drifted to the criminal case that hung over his life. Two new witnesses had come forward and given depositions. Vicky, the waitress whose charms he had nearly given in to on a night when his loneliness had been most acute, had spilled her story.

The other witness to come forward, the punk Jackson had thought of as Asshole, was named Chris Jenkins. He had told police of being involved in a road-rage incident in which Jackson had pulled a handgun on him. Of course, not wanting to implicate himself for his own bad behavior, Jenkins had failed to mention that he had been following Lisa Reisert home from the bar when Jackson had intercepted him. And, earlier today, Jackson had been more than willing to enlighten detective Mathis about that…

------------------------------------

Jackson swallowed a slug of the strong police station coffee and stretched his legs out before him. He had been here enough times now that he was getting comfortable with the place, and with Mathis himself. He doubted Mathis accepted his story, but the man was a professional and treated him with maximum civility.

Mathis entered the room and held out a hand. "Jackson," he greeted him, with a cursory nod. "Thanks for coming in again." He turned on the television in the corner. "We've gotten some new evidence that I want to talk to you about. Things that may or may not be relevant to the case, all right? But I want to hear your take on this."

"Sure," Jackson agreed.

Mathis started the video, then sat back.

For a moment, Jackson squinted at the subject of the interview, then laughed out loud when the face clicked in his mind - _Asshole. _He shook his head, still grinning, though Mathis was watching him. Jackson sat through the video, entertained by the spectacle of Asshole relating his slightly altered version of events.

"After I leave the bar, I'm driving down the road, and this car comes _flying_ around me," Asshole said, slicing his arm through the air from back to front in dramatic fashion. "He cuts me off - I mean, he comes so close to hitting me you wouldn't believe it - and then _slams_ on his brakes." Asshole paused for effect. "He keeps doing that, so that I almost run up his tailpipe. I try to go around him, and he cuts me off again. Finally, I'm like, what's this guy's problem? So he pulls into a driveway of some office building, and I pull in behind him. I go up to his car - you know, to see what his problem is? - and he pulls out this gun." Asshole made a gun of his hand and mimed pulling it from his side, pointing it at the interviewer.

Jackson smirked. This was good.

Asshole continued, "I stick my hands up, because now I know this guy's crazy, and he starts going off on me about flirting with his girlfriend back at the bar."

_Yes. Thank you, Asshole… _Jackson could scarcely contain his excitement. The idiot had either been too drunk to recall the exchange properly, or he had not wanted to admit to following Lisa. Either way, he had inadvertently added more proof to Jackson's claim that he and Lisa had had a relationship that predated the flight.

"I apologized, and he let me go. So I went back to my car and hauled ass," Asshole concluded.

"Why did you not report the incident that night?" the unseen interviewer asked.

" 'cause I'd had a few beers, and I didn't want to get a DUI. And I had no idea he was _that guy _until I saw his face on TV a few weeks later. So then I figured I had to tell someone. I mean, this is serious shit, right?"

Mathis stopped the video. "Okay. Let's have your version, Jackson."

Jackson was still smiling, partly from Asshole's animated account, partly from his own exhilaration. "Well, he has it mostly right. But he left out a crucial detail."

"What's that?"

"That he was trying to follow Lisa home from the bar. Now, I have to back up and explain something here. Lisa and I had agreed to meet at Carmelita's that night after she got off from the hotel. I had some things to work on, and I brought that with me. Lisa got there a few minutes before I did, and had run into a friend there, so I told her to go ahead and visit with the friend, and I'd sit at another table and get some work done."

Mathis nodded, listening intently.

"_That_ guy," Jackson stabbed a finger toward Asshole's stilled image on the screen, "approached Lisa several times. She blew him off. But when we were leaving, he followed her out. I was a little behind them, and when I saw him going after her in his car, I had to do something." Jackson drained his coffee cup and tossed it into the wastebasket. "I got in my car, and I chased… what's his name…?"

"Chris Jenkins."

"I chased Chris Jenkins because I was concerned for Lisa's safety. So yeah, he described that part pretty accurately. All I wanted to do was cut him off, get him away from her so he couldn't follow her home."

"Did you draw a handgun on him?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did you threaten to shoot him?"

"No. I didn't need to." Jackson smiled slyly.

Mathis rose and changed videos. "I want you to see this, too, Jackson."

Now, a black and white nighttime image of a semicircular drive, into which a Lexus appeared and came to a slow halt. Behind it, Jenkins' car stopped abruptly. _Ahh… caught by the security camera… _Jackson mused. He watched intently as Jenkins flung himself from his vehicle and swaggered up to the window of the Lexus. When Jenkins' hands went up like a drowning man's, Jackson chuckled, reliving the moment.

"You seem to find a lot of this funny," Mathis commented.

"I'm sorry." Jackson rearranged his face in a more solemn expression. He did not want to get under Mathis' skin, not when things were developing so well for him. "Uh, yeah. That's pretty much what happened," he said, indicating the image on the screen with a curt nod. "But if you have video from a couple minutes earlier, you might catch Lisa's car going by in the background," he drew his finger along the screen where the boulevard was visible.

Mathis ran the video back a full five minutes, and they both viewed it in expectant silence as each car drove past in the background. At last, the silver Camry came into sight, and Jackson leaned forward. "There." He turned to Mathis, triumphant. Two minutes later, Jackson's Lexus pulled into the drive, the loop beginning again.

"I see," Mathis said, frank surprise in his voice.

"Lisa can verify that he was bothering her at the bar, but she doesn't know he followed her out," Jackson said. "So this," he gestured to the video, again showing Jenkins putting his hands up, "will be news to her."

"Why didn't you tell her about it, Jackson?"

"It would have frightened her too much. You see, Lisa was sexually assaulted two years ago."

Mathis raised his eyebrows, and Jackson knew he had scored big.

-------------------------------------------

Thirty minutes had passed, and Jackson swung by Lisa's condo again. He was getting tired, in the heavy way he did ever since his surgery, and he knew it would be time to call it quits soon. Nothing was going to happen tonight… he could feel it. It was a quietness that permeated the air itself.

"Okay…" he breathed, satisfied as he took a last look at Lisa's car and the immediate area of her front door. "Let's call it a night," he instructed himself.

Driving home, Jackson took pleasure in the dark vacancy of the roads, the warm air heavy with ocean wetness, the elegance of the Royal palms that dotted the landscape. He had begun to feel an affection for Miami and its alien tropical charms, though he could very well die here. Each day he remained increased the chance of his being taken out by the organization. But he would fight until the end, and if he took one of the fuckers with him, then that was just peachy.

They would kill Lisa first, he knew. Jackson had made himself a more difficult target by setting up residence in a secure community, while Lisa had remained in her easily accessed condominium. So Jackson had begun nightly patrols of Lisa's street, ever vigilant. He did not know if Lisa had taken steps to protect herself after his warning, but to assume she had might be folly.

A smile softened Jackson's face as he neared his subdivision. Today, Lisa would have been told of the incident involving Chris Jenkins. He could only imagine how she had reacted to that.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you recognize this man?" Mathis asked, pausing the video.

Lisa raised her eyebrows. "Yeah. Some guy I met at Carmelita's."

"When?"

"I don't know. A few weeks ago. He was a real jerk," Lisa said crossly, the memory of his drunken proposition resurfacing in her mind.

Mathis restarted the video and slouched back in his chair as he watched Lisa's reaction to it.

Lisa observed the interview with no expression save mild irritation at seeing Jenkins' face again. When the tape ended, she turned to Mathis and shrugged. "Okay… so he got in a road rage fight the same night he talked to me at the bar? I don't understand what this has to do with me."

"Was he bothering you in Carmelita's, Lisa?"

Lisa fidgeted. "Yeah. Actually, he scared me a little. I thought he wasn't going to let me leave for a minute. I remember that."

"What happened then, Lisa?"

"Nothing. I left," she said simply.

Mathis studied her for a moment, one knuckle pressed to his lips, as if unsure whether to continue. "Were you aware that this man - Chris Jenkins - attempted to follow you home that night?"

"What? No, no I was not aware of that…" Lisa said, her eyes darting back to the television in horror. She had felt the threat coming from Chris in waves that night, but she'd had no idea he had pursued her from the bar.

"Well, he did. And this incident was what prevented him from reaching your home," Mathis said. He changed videos, switching to the security camera image. Immediately Lisa recognized the enormous fountain in the background as one that belonged to the Biscayne Point office, a building she would have passed by that night on her way home from Carmelita's.

Lisa leaned forward, spellbound, as a glossy Lexus floated into the drive and stopped. Behind it, a smaller car came into view, and Jenkins leaped out of it. He pounded the trunk of the Lexus, his mouth a black circle as he shouted. But when he reached the window of the Lexus, his demeanor changed dramatically. Jenkins drew back, and his hands ascended in fright.

"Do you know who the driver of the Lexus is?" Mathis asked.

Lisa's mouth fell open, and goosebumps crawled along her forearms. "Is that…?"

"Yes. That's Jackson."

Mouth gaping even farther, Lisa moved to the edge of her chair for a closer view. _Yes. It's him. _Even from the distance and awkward angle of the camera, Lisa could clearly identify Jackson, who was conversing evenly with Chris Jenkins, as if explaining something perfectly reasonable to him. "Jackson pulled a gun on him?"

"He admitted to it."

Lisa shook her head. "_Why_?" she asked, astonished.

"He says he was protecting you," Mathis said.

Lisa stared at Mathis without seeing him. In her mind's eye she saw Jackson in the dim movie theater, his penetrating gaze upon her. His words then… "_I can't protect you this time…" _Was this what he had been referring to? Putting a hand over her mouth in shock, Lisa tried to assimilate the new information. Jackson had, weeks ago, before even meeting her, put himself between her and this drunken creep.

_There must have been a reason… _Lisa's mind ran madly to come up with a motivation for Jackson's interference. In a moment, she had it - _It would have screwed up his plan if something had happened to me. _But did she really believe that? If something had happened to her that night, someone else would have filled her position at Lux Atlantic, and Jackson's focus would have simply shifted to that new person. Lisa twisted her hair around her fingers, deep in thought. Was it possible that Jackson had not wanted her harmed?

Lisa came back to herself, aware that she had not spoken, and that Mathis was waiting expectantly. Her eyes flicked to the television. The need was too strong; she had to ask, no matter what Mathis thought. She nodded toward the stilled video, almost holding her breath. "Can I watch that again?"

----------------

Hurrying from the police station to her car, Lisa almost stumbled in her low heels. The new facts roiled in her brain like incompatible foods in a revolting stomach. First, she had been intrigued and thrilled by the revelation that Jackson had physically shielded her from Jenkins. But Mathis had followed this up with the unexpected detail that Jackson had made personal contact with her friend. Vicky, Lisa's roommate from college, had seen Jack for one night a few weeks ago.

Getting into her car and closing herself into its quiet privacy, Lisa sat motionless. That Jack would have, _could _have dated her girlfriend, even if for only one night, seemed impossible. The truth had been a sucker punch, and it had been all she could do to refrain from reacting before Mathis when he had told her. It seemed he had never watched her more intensely than he had at that moment, and Lisa had wanted only to leave.

Pawing in her purse for her cell, Lisa searched its menu for Vicky's number, unsure she even had it. They had fallen more or less out of touch with each other as the years since college had passed, although Lisa always made a point of saying hello to Vicky whenever she visited Carmelita's. Incredibly, Vicky's number was in her cell phone. Lisa hit the send button and put the phone to her ear, her other hand in a tense grip on the steering wheel. _She probably can't talk about the case with me, _Lisa thought, listening to the phone begin to ring. _But I have to know. _Just what she had to know was unclear to her at that moment, but she would have crawled over broken glass to know it, just the same.

"Hello?"

Lisa's hand tightened on the steering wheel. "Vicky? I have to talk to you."


	21. Chapter 21

**Bonus for all of you who have stuck with this fic! Go to my profile page for a link to my Red Eye fan art, if you have not yet seen it...**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Carmelita's began to come alive with late afternoon customers, Lisa nervously reached for the drink menu, needing something in her hands. Vicky bustled about the place, occasionally shooting an anxious glance into Lisa's corner booth. Vicky had agreed to sit down with her when she had a break, but Lisa began to reconsider her own request.

_Why are you doing this? _Lisa grilled herself. _Mathis already told you what happened between Vicky and Jack that night. What more do you need to know? _Frowning at the cheery, laminated menu offering tropical drinks, Lisa knew what more she needed - Vicky's personal insight into Jackson as a man; not the dry, factual account of events that Mathis had given her. But it felt wrong to ask her for it.

Finally, when Lisa had begun to think she could stand waiting no longer, Vicky headed toward her, tucking a loose section of hair back behind her ear. She slid into the booth across from Lisa, her brown eyes full of worry. They studied one another in silence.

Lisa dropped her gaze to the tabletop, feeling invasive. "You don't have to tell me about this if you don't want to, Vicky. I really have no right to ask. And they probably don't want you discussing the case anyway."

"No, they don't. But it's okay." Vicky gave her a reassuring smile that faded quickly, and she looked around the booth. "It's weird… you're sitting exactly where _he_ did." She sighed. "I can't imagine why you want to hear any more about him. I've seen on the news what happened to you, Lisa. I'm so sorry I didn't call you."

Lisa took in a deep breath. "Just tell me you don't believe I would plot to blow up a building."

"Oh, please," Vicky said, as if such ideas were not worth her time. She waved a dismissive hand.

They grinned at each other then, and Lisa was transported back to her carefree college days… simpler days. But the reminiscence was short-lived; quickly replaced by her gnawing curiosity to know about Vicky's date with Jackson. Her stomach turned again at the very idea. "So…" she began, not knowing how to broach the subject, "what exactly happened that night?" _God, I sound like Mathis… _Lisa realized uncomfortably.

Vicky took a deep breath and began. "Well, Jackson-slash-John showed up here right before we closed; I was outside wiping down tables. He hadn't even realized it was Sunday," Vicky recalled. "He said something about losing track of what day it was, because of his 'job' I think. He seemed pretty stressed out, but trying to downplay it, you know?" Vicky paused. "I admit it - I felt sorry for the guy. God, he just looked so _lonely_."

Lisa felt a bewildering pang of sympathy for Jackson. She had never considered that the weeks of surveillance would have been demanding for him, or even that he had felt the need for companionship. To her he had seemed so remote; Jackson desperately seeking company did not quite fit with her view of him as remorseless manager. But Jackson was a man, after all… "Go on," she gently goaded, seeing Vicky hesitate.

"Well, I had waited on him Saturday night, so I joked with him about the drink he had ordered then - he'd had a Lusty Lisa," she revealed. "Sorry, I know that must creep you out," she apologized.

"I didn't know there was such a drink," Lisa said, taken aback.

"There is. And if I had known _why_ he was ordering it…well, anyway. I teased him that when he asked for a Lusty Lisa, I almost brought _you _to his table instead of the drink," Vicky winced in shame. "This must make you absolutely sick to hear now."

"I would have killed you," Lisa said, horrified but amused.

"I know. When I told him I had a friend named Lisa, he was very interested. Wanted to know what you looked like, the whole deal. But then he asked what I was doing after work."

An absurd stab of envy caught Lisa unprepared, and found herself unable meet Vicky's eyes.

"Are you _sure _you want to hear this?" Vicky pleaded.

Lisa raised her chin. "I need to."

Seeing her resolve, Vicky continued. "As a person, he was actually very smooth; he had a kind of sarcastic sense of humor that I liked, and I felt like we were hitting it off. He knew how to hit on you without making you feel like you were being hit on, if you know what I mean." Vicky smiled ruefully. "I told him I had to finish up, and would meet him outside. When I came out, he was waiting across the street. We really didn't know where to go or what to do, since it was so late on a Sunday night, so I suggested we just go down to the beach. I brought a couple of beers in my bag."

Lisa smiled weakly, dreading where the story was going.

Vicky hurried on, as if wanting to get the most distasteful part over with. "He wanted to drive, and I let him. We got to the beach… and went walking. Uhh…" She cast a sharp eye at Lisa.

_Don't make me ask, Vicky… _Lisa begged her mentally, but Vicky was averse to sharing details.

Her face colored. "We weren't there long; he got a phone call. So we picked up and left," Vicky said. "On the way out, I saw that your car was there; we were parked right next to you."

"That was the night my grandmother died," Lisa remembered. "When I got off the phone with my mother I had to get out of the house for a while."

Vicky nodded. "Well, you were on the beach at the same time we were. I had told Jackson before that you two seemed like a good match, so I asked him if he wanted me to find you so that he could meet you. But he said no; he was in a hurry to leave by then. He drove me back to the bar and dropped me off. And that was it," Vicky concluded, sitting back with palpable relief. "Oh, I did give him my number, but of course he never called." she said, shading her eyes with a hand briefly in embarrassment.

Lisa nodded, envisioning their short encounter with painful clarity. "Vicky? I know it's none of my business, but… did you and he…?" she could not finish, ashamed at her own intrusiveness.

Vicky glanced around their booth before answering. "Almost," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the table. "If his cell phone hadn't gone off, we would have."

Lisa tapped her fingernails agitatedly, her mind summoning unwanted images of Jackson and Vicky entwined on the dark beach. Of Vicky experiencing Jack's smoldering kiss… and more. More than she herself had. For a terrible, blinding instant, she hated them both. Hated Vicky for knowing Jackson in ways she did not; hated Jackson purely for his interest in Vicky. If he could so easily distribute his passions, then their kiss aboard the plane had meant nothing. Sickened, Lisa leaned back into the corner of the booth, eyes settled distantly on the bar, where, unaware of her innner havoc, people drank and laughed.

"Lisa…? Please say something," Vicky pleaded.

Lisa forced her attention back to her friend. _Don't be angry at her, _she admonished herself. _Her separation has been so hard on her. They were both just lonely. And they didn't actually… _"It's all right, Vicky. I've just had so much to think about lately. I'm not mad at you."

Vicky smiled, and a wicked gleam flashed in her eyes. "You know, a girl dumped a drink on him here the first night. Well, not on _him_, exactly; on his work papers… but his legs got wet. Does that make you feel any better?"

Imagining Jackson sitting in her very seat with water dribbling off the table and onto his pants, Lisa felt amusement welling up, and a moment later it burst free. She laughed aloud, reveling in the mental image of Jackson's humiliation.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jackson lifted his face out of the pillow and squinted at the clock. Turning over, he was annoyed to find he had fallen asleep in his clothes. It didn't matter. What mattered was how easily he awoke now, and how good he felt when he did, free from the drugs and distractions of the hospital.

Each day he had gotten stronger. It was now a month since the day he had been shot, and Jackson noted the milestone with defiant pride. He rolled off his bed and stood, relishing the vigorous reawakening of his muscles and sinews. He wasn't quite ready for a run yet, and his surgeon had warned him of some minor but permanently diminished lung capacity. But, scars or not, he felt whole again. And ready.

Night was falling. Jackson ruffled his sleep-mussed hair and pried the bedroom blinds open with a finger, admiring the orange sunset sky. Though he had not slept long, he had dreamed… of Lisa. She had been laughing in his dream, something he had in reality only seen her do once or twice; and would likely never have the pleasure of witnessing again. On principle, Jackson disliked dreams; those uncontrollable hallucinations that confounded rational thought. And these latest of Lisa were more disturbing yet for their vagueness and the sense of incompletion he felt upon awakening.

His meeting with Lisa in the shadowy, stuffy theater had affected him more than he liked to admit. That day, his self-imposed detachment had been in fine form, except for a few instances when she had angered him. He had managed the exchange beautifully, keeping the talk concentrated on the matter at hand. But in the end, Lisa had effectively run him out of the theater with one question -"_Why did you call me from the hospital, Jack?"_

Her prying words had violated Jackson to such a degree that he had gotten up to leave, hating her for thinking he would share the shameful memory with her - as if she had presumed it would be a bonding experience for them if he did so. As if she had a right to _know _him. Lisa had held her ground as he brushed past her in her seat, and he had made the split-second decision to put her audacity to the test by touching her.

He had touched Lisa and she had not moved… he might even believe she had welcomed it.

----------------------------------------------------

The downpour opaqued the inside of the BMW's windows with fog and lowered a shimmering, watery curtain between Jackson's eyes and Lisa's condo. _Damn it. It's always something._

He had told her he could not protect her. Yet here he was, his BMW plowing a wake through several inches of rainwater as he drifted past her home at this ungodly hour. And why? Some reasons he refused to examine closely, but there was one he accepted freely: to find the man who wanted him dead. Whoever had been tasked with Jackson and Lisa's destruction would pursue her first - and this made her the perfect lure. Sooner or later, if he spent enough time in the vicinity of Lisa's home, Jackson would happen upon that person.

But what was taking so long? It was unheard of that the organization had waited this long to eliminate Lisa. Jackson shook his head; he had gone out of his way to warn Lisa of the imminent peril, only to have ten days pass without a whisper of danger. They were making a liar out of him, and Lisa would let her guard down as day after day passed. _What guard? She's not doing anything about it._

Turning off her street, Jackson yawned, groaning loudly in frustrated boredom. And yet, he would be nowhere else; would never have turned his back on such a critical matter. In the deluge, he passed another BMW similar to his own, and his attention snapped to his rearview mirror, where he saw the car creep onto Lisa's street.

"Shit." Jackson pulled into a side street a few blocks down. Quickly he slithered his hands into the tight leather gloves, then reached for his gun and attached the suppressor, feeling it slip securely into place. _Might not be anything… _he thought, splashing through a rushed three-point-turn with the car. Gaining the boulevard again, Jackson slowed, not wanting to come upon his quarry too soon. He took the next street over from Lisa's, heading for his old spot; the place he had always parked to observe her condo from a safer distance. He killed the car's lights and drifted into position, watching.

The other BMW slowed to a crawl in the torrent. And paused directly before Lisa's condo, brake lights bright.

_Uh oh. _Jackson tensed in his seat, staring unblinkingly as the car remained there for nearly half a minute. Finally, the red glow dimmed as the driver resumed forward progress. But the car suddenly swung into an empty space only a few doors down from Lisa and parked; all lights cut off. Jackson grasped the shifter, struggling to hold fast for a few more seconds, long enough to see if the driver emerged.

Nothing happened. Jackson glanced at the clock and marked the time. Several minutes passed, and still no one got out of the car. _Come on, come on… _Jackson's hand tightened upon the shifter; his other hand unconsciously kneaded his thigh muscle where he had been stabbed, arousing the old, dull pain again.

Finally, the car's door opened a crack, then wider. Jackson straightened in an instant as the driver unfolded himself to his full height, oblivious to the rain. _Loper. _Even from where he was parked, Jackson recognized Loper by the man's sheer size and exceedingly long, black ponytail. And in a flash, Jackson knew how they intended Lisa to die.

_This is it. This is it. _

Jackson was forced to wait in agony as Loper made his way across the parking lot, since the big man was facing in his direction. If he backed up now, the movement would draw Loper's attention. "Come on, come on, come on," Jackson muttered, gripping his leg harder, his head thrust forward in eager readiness. In the close interior of the car, the rapid rise in his body heat had caused the windshield to mist over, and Jackson hurriedly flicked on the defogger.

Loper bypassed another parked vehicle and neared Lisa's Camry, and in that moment, Jackson made out the small duffle bag the man carried. Loper glanced about himself in the downpour, then sank out of sight beside Lisa's car.

_Now._

Jackson reversed the BMW carefully, watching for Loper's reappearance. He drove around the corner and onto Lisa's street slowly, knowing there was no way to hide his advance. He might have parked the car and walked to where Loper was, but for what he intended to do, a swift getaway was more crucial than a stealthy approach.

Jackson entered the complex parking lot. He breathed deeply, in and out, priming himself. Passing Lisa's neighboring condos, he made a quick survey of each window. All dark. Good. Lisa's windows dark as well.

He reached Lisa's silver Camry, rain cascading off its rear. As Jackson threw the BMW into park just behind it, he saw the sopping black jeans and motorcycle boots protruding from beneath Lisa's car just under the driver's seat - Loper hard at work.

Jackson opened his door and stood, the gun shoved beneath his jacket on the left side of his body. The driving rain plastered his hair to his head within seconds. Jaw set, he strode resolutely to where Loper's legs jutted out from under the car, and watched as the man attempted to pull his entire body under, the drenched legs shifting and squirming first one way, then the other as Loper changed his mind, realizing the gatecrasher was someone he needed to deal with.

Rainwater dripping into his eyes, his face a mask of contempt, Jackson leveled the gun at the man's body and waited for the foolish upper half to appear.

----------

Lisa looked up from her book, her eyes drifting toward her window. There had been a noise from outside, a strange metallic _clack_, almost like the sound of a staple gun.

Lowering the book to her lap, she listened hard over the sound of the rain, her eyes rolling back and forth in unease. But the sound was not repeated. Her brain replayed it over and over, trying to identify it, categorize it as something familiar and non-threatening. She could not. Another sound - a car door closing, and the low hum of its departure.

_Better go look._


	22. Chapter 22

Mathis turned from the murder scene to see a news van approaching. Marching quickly toward it, he made eye contact with the driver and raised his hand, shaking his head firmly. After ensuring the retreat of the van, he returned to the body beside Lisa Reisert's car, the sunrise lending a soft, pink glow to the gruesome scene.

The man lay face-up on the wet pavement, his open mouth full to the top with rainwater, and would have appeared to have drowned freakishly were it not for the gaping gunshot wound in the middle of his chest. The victim had evidently been interrupted in the process of some unauthorized mechanical work on Lisa's car. To be exact, he had been attaching an explosive to the ignition system when he had been shot and killed.

Mathis lit a cigarette and observed the pale, bloodless body, which had been discovered by the unfortunate newspaper delivery woman at approximately 4:30 in the morning. By her account, the man had been killed some time before, since, in her words, "He didn't have no more blood comin' out of him."

This stank of Rippner. Mathis expelled a long plume of smoke and headed toward Lisa Reisert's front door. She had refused to come back out after seeing the body, and Mathis was worried for her.

--------------------------

"Did they take… _him_… away yet?" Lisa asked, her large eyes darting toward the front window.

"Pretty soon, Lisa. As soon as the photos are taken." Mathis sat down and rubbed his eyes. "You heard the noise at what time, now?"

Lisa shook her head, unsure. "After three - I don't know exactly. I was up late, reading, and when I heard that noise, I went to the window and looked out, but didn't see anything."

Mathis considered. From the angle of her front window, and with the driving rain, Lisa would indeed have been unable to see the victim's body sprawled on the ground, half under the driver's side of her car, even considering the man's bulk. "In a few minutes, I'm going to have an officer come in and run a quick test on you, okay, Lisa?"

"What test?"

"A gunshot residue test. We'll need it to eliminate you as a suspect. It's just a simple swab test that will tell us if you've fired a weapon recently."

Suddenly utterly exhausted, Lisa put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. _This isn't my life. It can't be. _"Okay," she agreed faintly. She knew who was responsible for the dead man outside, and Mathis knew as well, she saw it in his dark eyes.

Jackson had warned her. If he had not intervened, there would have been a shattering explosion in her peaceful neighborhood; flames and white-hot shards of jagged metal. Her violent, fiery death.

The dead body a few steps from her door was Jackson's doing. He had saved her life. But Lisa understood now that Jackson had been using her as bait, primarily to save his own life. She felt an awe-inspiring gratitude for Jackson's protection, but the chaos he continually inflicted upon her life was near intolerable. _I can't take any more of this. It has to stop. _He _has to stop._

She lifted her head and looked at Mathis. Maybe _he_ would stop Jackson by locking him up until the trial. The possibility of Jackson behind bars was both terrifying and a relief. Confined, he would be powerless to prevent another attempt on her life. But free, he was vengeance incarnate… and for all she knew, the body count was only beginning.

Both options terrible, and completely out of her control. Lisa stared numbly at the detective, but inside she was screaming.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With composed cool, Jackson held out his hand and watched as the field tech swabbed it - across the palm, along the web between thumb and forefinger, and over the back to the wrist.

Mathis stood in the airy foyer of Jackson's house, arms folded. "Thank you for cooperating with us this morning, Jackson," the detective said. His tone was courteous as always, but his condemning eye roved over Jackson in distrust. "Sorry to get you out of bed."

Jackson offered his other hand for the tech. "No, it's okay. I want to help in any way I can." As the swab glided over his palm, Jackson had a moment's doubt - he had taken every precaution and been aided by an unusually heavy downpour the night before, but when you were dealing with microscopic particles, there was no such thing as being certain that you were clean. The test results might confirm him as a suspect within a day. He would have to be ready.

Finished, the tech placed the swabs in separate plastic bags, mumbled his thanks, and exited. Mathis scrutinized Jackson's sumptuous living area with mild resentment before facing him again. "So, you're going to tell me that last night at around three o'clock, you were sleeping. Yes?"

Jackson bristled slightly. "I was."

Mathis pursed his lips in the first display of overt disbelief Jackson had seen from him. "And why do you think someone would have shot a man to death right outside Lisa Reisert's condo, Jackson?"

The detective had so far said nothing whatsoever about the explosives Loper had been occupied with, and Jackson was not about to be tripped up. "I have no idea," he said shortly. "People shoot each other all the time in this city, I've noticed," he needled, knowing Mathis would take personally the high crime level he was referring to.

Mathis scowled. "Maybe they do. But we have reason to believe that this victim had intended to harm Lisa Reisert. The victim's killer was either very lucky to be in the right place at the right time, or he had been watching her place, waiting for this person to show. And then took him out."

A muted rage stole over Jackson; there would be no more late-night forays to Lisa's condo for him. Mathis was getting too close now - tying his hands, without having the sense to realize that doing so would throw Lisa back into jeopardy. Jackson glared at the detective. "And why would this person have to be me…?"

"Did I say that, Jackson?"

"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it?" Jackson's anger was mounting with each exchange, though he knew that open hostility would only further inflame the detective's suspicions. Jackson folded his arms and leaned in the doorway of his luxurious living room until he had recovered his self-possession. "Listen. I'm sorry. It's just that I have nothing to do with Lisa now. I don't mean to be difficult, but I don't know anything about the people she associates with, or who might want to kill her. Or who might want to kill someone who _wants _to kill her," he finished, projecting the just the right amount of weariness.

Mathis shrugged. "Well, Jackson, we have to consider you. After all, you have been caught on video defending Lisa from harm before… with a firearm, too. It's not a stretch to see this as a pattern."

_Nice try… _Jackson nodded. "I see your line of thinking. But… totally different scenarios. I was trying to keep a drunk asshole from following my girlfriend home. Most guys would do the same."

At last Mathis turned for the door. Thankful that the detective was leaving, Jackson opened the door politely for him.

"We'll probably be in touch with you again this week, Jackson," Mathis said, his dark eyes full of warning. "I don't have to tell you to stay in town."

_Oh yeah, the honeymoon's definitely over… _Mathis would be back. With a warrant. Jackson met the man's glare full-on, confident in his ability to prevail in this battle of wills. "Sure," he said. "I'll be here."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joe Reisert, hands in pockets, strolled restlessly through Lisa's living room. "Is that all you're going to take, Leese?" The two bags by the front door could only have held enough clothing and personal effects for several days, and he eyed them with concern. "You know, I'd feel a lot better if you'd just come home with me."

Lisa came out of the bedroom, one more bag slung over her shoulder. "I know, Dad. But Cynthia's place is safe, there's even a security guard… I'm sure I'll be fine."

Her father searched her eyes, then pulled her into a warm embrace. "If you need more of your things, just send me for them. I don't want you coming back to this condo again."

Lisa nodded against his shoulder, her chin trembling. "Okay, Dad."

He released her and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and Lisa did not miss the glint of tears in his eyes. Stooping to collect her bags, he gestured towards the door with his head. "Let's get you out of here."

Lisa started to follow him out, then turned to look over her condominium - her home - one last time. What had been her sanctuary from the world and a source of pride to her was now only a death trap; another piece of her life lost because of Jackson Rippner. Slice by slice, he had pared her life down to only herself and her family… not much else remained.

_It has to stop. I'll _make _him stop._

---------------------------------------

The line at McDonald's was long. But Lisa was grateful for some time alone, even if was only a few minutes. She had offered to run out and pick up a cheap, late dinner, and Cynthia had protested, saying it was too dangerous for her to go alone. But Lisa had won in the end, no doubt because Cynthia still viewed her as her boss in some vestigial way… though she had insisted that Lisa take her car.

Unfamiliar with Cynthia's vehicle, Lisa had to search to find the proper button to turn off the radio; requiring silence to gather her thoughts. Her father would be upset if he knew that she had gone out alone, but she needed a breather to absorb the day's awfulness.

All day, her emotions had oscillated between urgently wanting Jackson to be arrested… and being terrified that he would. Wrung out by such a powerfully constant ebb and flow, Lisa wanted only to close herself into her bedroom and lie in bed. But she could not even go home.

Her cell phone rang. Lisa smiled wryly; it was Cynthia. "I'm okay, Cynthia," she assured her, knowing she would ask. "It's just a long line here."

"I'm sorry, Lisa, I don't mean to be a pain. I should have at least gone with you or…"

"I'll be back in a few minutes, all right? Nothing's happening to me, I promise."

Shaking her head ruefully at Cynthia's concern, Lisa ended the call and let her gaze drift to the gas station next door, the bright lights drawing her eye. _Maybe I should fill Cynthia's tank for her… _she pondered. _She certainly is helping me out in a tough spot. _

Lisa watched appreciatively as a sleek black BMW glided into the gas station and stopped at one of the pumps. She had wanted that exact model, had even gone to a dealership and looked at a few last year, but had never made the jump. The BMW's driver stepped out, and Lisa gasped.

_Jackson._

He leaned nonchalantly on the side of his car as he fueled it, looking the part of a white-collar working man on the way home from the office after putting in long hours.

Lisa craned to see if the line she was trapped in showed any signs of moving, badly wanting to extricate herself. Jackson was now replacing the nozzle… getting his receipt… he would be gone in a minute, and if her line didn't move she would lose him.

Jackson climbed into the BMW.

With relief, Lisa watched as her line began to move, but the car directly in front of her did not budge, the driver's attention somewhere in his console.

Jackson's BMW exited the gas station, and, in desperation, Lisa hurriedly pressed various areas on the center of the steering wheel of Cynthia's car until it emitted a nasal beep. Appalled at her own rude behavior, she held down the horn until the car in front of her moved grudgingly forward, the driver glowering at her in his side mirror.

Freed, Lisa stomped the gas and whirled out of line, nearly sideswiping a car on its way through the narrow parking lot. Reaching the road, she gave only the most fleeting glance at the traffic before screeching onto it. _Where… where… _

There, ahead. The BMW only a quarter-mile in front of her. Lisa pushed Cynthia's car faster, her heart pounding unpleasantly in her throat. She wasn't even sure what her intentions were in running after Jackson; she only knew that she did not want to lose sight of him.

Closer.

Close enough to read his license plate; and to see his silhouette through the narrow back window. Her pulse beating in her temples; shaky hands tightening upon the wheel.

Too close. _He'll see me. Ease off… just like _he _would. How many times did he follow _me_ like this? _Settling into her stalking now, Lisa backed off from Jackson, daring to let a few cars come between them. By the time his BMW turned off the major road, she had relaxed enough to lag far behind, more confident that she would not lose him. She was on familiar ground.

The BMW wound through the darkened streets into a more residential area, and Lisa knew with excitement that Jackson was going home. Somehow it had never occurred to her that he _had_ a home, but certainly he did… and now she would know where. And almost before he reached it, the inspiration hit her - he lived in Imperial Lakes. Of course he would, it was walled off from the rest of Miami like a tropical fortress.

Sure enough, the BMW made a hard right and stopped before the wrought-iron gate. Lisa slowed, and as she passed the ostentatious entrance, she saw Jackson reach out his window to the gate's keypad, letting himself in.

Continuing on, her mind was reeling, and the car drifted along without her guidance as if on autopilot. _I know where he lives. _She turned around and drove by the entrance again, head swiveling as she passed. Jackson's BMW was gone; the gate closed. _But I can't get in. _

Her phone rang. _Oh shit… Cynthia! _She picked it up to hear Cynthia's concerned voice.

"Lisa? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Something came up, but I'm okay. Cynthia, didn't you tell me your parents live in Imperial Lakes?"

"Yeah, they do. Why? Lisa, what are you doing?"

There was no way to delicately ask the question, and Lisa closed her eyes before forging ahead. "What's the code for the entrance gate?"

"Lisa, what's going on?" Cynthia's anxiety was audibly increasing.

"Nothing's going on. I'm okay, everything's okay. I just need to know the code for the gate. Can you give it to me?"

There was a silence.

Lisa gripped the phone tighter. "Cynthia…"

"Twenty forty-six," Cynthia said quickly. "And if you don't call me back in twenty minutes and let me know you're okay, you know I'll call the police, right?"

"Yes. Thank you, Cynthia. I promise I'll call you back."

Lisa drove back around the block and into the Imperial Lakes entrance, stopping before the gate. Mosquitoes danced lazily between her car and the forbidding black gate, caught in the headlights' harsh beams. Grimly, Lisa reached for the keypad and carefully pressed the four numbers, sure that they would not work; that Cynthia had remembered the code wrong, or that it had been changed.

The gate swung silently, smoothly inward.


	23. Chapter 23

Lisa drove into Imperial Lakes, the high iron gate swinging closed behind her, and began a slow tour of the exclusive community. Each house was sprawlingly built upon at least an acre of lavish, tropical landscape, and a few might even have been regarded as mansions. The opulence of the homes was spectacular, and bile rose in Lisa's throat to think Jackson had enough money to live here - and how he had earned it.

Slowing to a crawl, Lisa was unsure how she would know which house was Jackson's. Most of the homes had massive garages, so his BMW would probably not be in open sight. She rolled down her window the better to inspect each residence. Despite the recent heavy rains, sprinkler systems ran full blast on several expansive lawns, water running off the saturated ground and into the gutter.

She almost didn't see them - wet tire marks, already fading, curving into one driveway and disappearing before the closed garage door. Had she come by even a few minutes later, they would have been gone. Lisa came to a stop, shaking her head in disgust.

Jackson's house. The place was stunning, a masterpiece of contemporary Florida design; with soaring windows, second-floor balconies and tile roofing.

_Okay, now what? _She chewed her lip, unprepared to handle the sudden prospect of confronting Jackson in his home. There was no sign of activity from within the house, the interior lights dim. What if it wasn't Jackson's after all? She was basing her assumption merely on tire tracks, and even they were now disappearing. But her gut told her he was here.

_I have to try something. _If she could only get him talking, he might drop his defenses; give her something to use against him. And who knew what she might see inside his house. Adrenaline surging, Lisa pulled into Jackson's driveway and parked. The semicircular steps to his front door seemed insurmountable; as sinister as the front of a Mayan sacrificial pyramid.

She got out of the car and began a stiff death-march up the walk. To bolster herself, she called upon the memory of their parting in the movie theater; his gentle caress. _He won't hurt me. He won't. _Lisa climbed the steps and approached the door. She raised a fist and knocked tentatively.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Setting the half-empty glass of Johnnie Walker on the hall table, Jackson produced the Glock from its hiding place and carried it toward the front door. This was the third handgun in the rotation so far. The first, the one that had made Asshole an instant coward, was now the property of the Miami Police Department. Number Two was settling nicely into the sand at the bottom of Biscayne Bay since last night.

Through the door's peep-hole, Jackson saw Lisa squeezing her upper arms nervously as she waited. She appeared to have come on her own, but there was no telling. He opened the door.

"Lisa," he greeted her, keeping the weapon behind the door so as not to alarm her. "About time you got out of that bad neighborhood you were living in," he smirked.

Invitingly, he opened the door wider, and she walked over the threshold without a word; though when her eyes met his, he caught the spark of anger in them. Jackson closed the door behind them with a solid thud and leaned a shoulder on it, then set the handgun down slowly on a small ledge in the wall, Lisa's eyes following it.

"What do you want, Lisa?" he asked warily.

Lisa waited, gathering the nerve to speak, then took a deep breath. "I want you to stop."

"Stop what?"

There were circles beneath her eyes. "You know what."

Jackson retrieved his drink from the hall table; he had a feeling he would be needing it. Turning from Lisa's pleading face for a moment, he considered that she was here of her own volition, and frightened. Under such ideal conditions, he might at last be able to convince her… and it would be his only chance. This was his last night in Miami.

Seeing the glass in his hand, Lisa sneered, "So… this is how you deal with all the things you've done? By getting drunk? I wouldn't have thought it of you, Jack."

She always made it hard to be civil. Jackson looked down at her contemptuously. "Lisa, this isn't 'dealing with' anything. And I'm far from drunk." He knocked back a healthy swallow, scathing her with his eye as he did so. He'd be damned if he would let her judge him beneath his own roof. "What did you come here for?"

"I told you. I want you to stop."

Where was the gratitude? He had expected her to be seeking shelter at last with him, or at least expressing some sort of appreciation for his preventing her from being blown into a million pieces. But not Lisa, no. Instead, she came to him with the idea that if only he ceased his actions, her life would resume its former monotony. Annoyance surfaced in him. "You want me to stop? Do you think Mathis would put in the kind of time or effort that I did last night? Where was he? You should be on bended knee, thanking me for what I did. I saved your _life_," Jackson snarled.

"Was it really my life you saved… or was it yours, Jack?" Lisa shot back.

"It's all the same to you, Leese. The end result is what matters."

"That end result was lying next to my car this morning. You didn't even worry about whether the police would think I had done it. They could have arrested me for murder, for all you knew," Lisa said, her small chest heaving in anger.

"Jail happens to be very safe. Best place for you, Lisa," Jackson said, and drained his glass.

"Yeah. So you've said. I notice you don't apply that reasoning to yourself." She was terrified; transforming that terror into anger and directing it at him, as if that would exorcise it from her.

"Lisa," Jackson lowered his voice, hoping a gentler tone would better gain her attention. "Last night, I bought us some time. Nothing more. This isn't over… this is the rest of your life."

Still caressing her arms as if chilled, she stared at him, wide-eyed.

He moved closer to her, reaching out to lock the front door as he passed by, the deadbolt clicking into place significantly in the quiet hallway. Her eyes never left his, and she retreated slightly, backing towards the wall.

Close enough to see the flecks of green in her eyes, Jackson placed both hands on the wall behind her on either side of her body. "You have to leave Miami, Leese. _Have to. _You can't go back home. Your job is gone, your reputation is shot. Strangers stare at you… they _know_ you now. And you know what, Leese? They _hate you _because of what they think you are," he whispered.

Her eyes brimmed with moisture, and a tear spilled down her cheek.

"There's nothing left to keep you in Miami.… I've made it _easy_ for you to leave," he persuaded softly.

-------------------

_Easy. _He actually dared to use such a word to describe throwing her life away. More hot tears scorched her cheeks and she swiped at them furiously, grappling with her hatred for Jackson, amazed that he still had the capacity to hurt her. He had devastated her life, and now stood before her, admitting it had been intentional.

"You've got nowhere to go, Leese. You've got nowhere to go now… except to me." His yearning blue eyes so near, he leaned closer still. "You _need_ me," he murmured seductively.

His hand moved to stroke her hair, and excited dismay engulfed Lisa like rising water. His touch dismantled her anger with frightening ease and gave her an overpowering desire to feel some sort of pleasure in the midst of so much pain. Jackson, the source of it all, moved closer, his body nearly touching hers, promising to amend the damage in the only way he could.

He wanted her for himself; if she gave him what he wanted, he would be at his most vulnerable. She closed her eyes, offering herself up to Jackson. His soft lips met hers, and she arched her body against him, embracing her tormenter with heedless abandon. Slipping a tense arm around the small of her back, Jackson pulled her more tightly to him, his lips progressing from her mouth to her throat with teasing slowness.

As if in a dream, Lisa felt him pull her away from the wall, his arm about her, and move her in a slow dance to another room. His mouth found hers again hungrily, and she felt the back of her calves bump a welcoming, soft surface. Like a doll, she dropped helplessly into the leather of a lush couch, Jackson cradling her on the way down.

He caressed her with tender insistence, enticing her with the pressure of his body, and Lisa responded with equal eagerness. Tomorrow she might die; she would live this moment as if it were her last… make him believe he was someone she loved, would die for. Grasping his hips, she pulled him to her with force that drew a surprised sound from him. She greedily tasted the flesh of his neck, inhaling the masculine scent she had never forgotten. No guilt, but an aching desire to _know_ him, if only in this way, and a sense of unstoppable fate unfolding. _Jack… _

-----------------

She was so small, so soft… Jackson's fingertips brushed her scar as he at last claimed her fully. He breathed deeply, holding back; wanting to savor her, wanting time to stop. Her gasps drove him to greater passion, and he pressed his cheek to hers as he took her with triumphant urgency. Soft cries warmed his ear - she was crying out his name, and he buried his face in her hair; only one thought strong enough to override the ecstasy that exploded within him…

_Run with me, Leese…_

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mathis tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in frustration. Lisa had been in Imperial Lakes for almost a half hour now. No call had been made to police from Rippner's house to report the violation of the restraining order, either. It didn't happen often to Mathis, but he was getting angry over the case; angry at Lisa for her reckless behavior. He had worked his ass off gathering evidence, witnesses…. and he had believed in her. But now she was following Rippner to his house like a lovestruck groupie.

He had played the good cop long enough with her. With a regretful sigh, he lifted the camera from the seat next to him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm okay, Cynthia. I'll be home later. Please, just don't call anybody, all right?" Lisa watched Jackson, who was refreshing his drink with one hand and tucking in his shirttail with the other. She wondered idly how many times he had performed the maneuver before; it seemed almost reflex for him. In any case, he had certainly let his guard down with her dramatically. She ended the call.

Jackson leaned against the kitchen counter. "Lisa." Unwilling to meet her eyes, he turned away slightly and swallowed a generous portion of the liquor before continuing. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

She feigned shock. "What? Wait a minute, what about the trial; clearing your name…?"

Jackson was shaking his head. "That was only under ideal conditions. What happened last night changed everything. I'll be arrested within days, and I won't be able to bond out this time. I can't stay." He faced her again, his eyes piercing. "And neither can you. The sooner you accept that, the better. Of course… if you think Mathis can protect you as well as I have, then by all means - stay."

His callousness, so soon after their ardent lovemaking, was like a dousing of cold water to Lisa, despite her attempt to master her feelings in his presence. She turned her back to him, hating him for his power to manipulate her emotions. Jackson wanted her to be afraid. He wanted her to choose between impossible scenarios, each of which he had described with equal hideousness. She could leave Miami and abandon all she knew, in exchange for some degree of safety; presumably greater safety if she fled with Jackson. Or she could stay, spending the rest of her days - and Jackson seemed confident there would be very few of them - waiting to be slaughtered in some barbaric way by his remorseless associates.

But she had other ideas.

Her eyes darted over her surroundings, looking for something, anything of consequence. With a start, she saw it - a laptop resting on the counter before her, so obvious she had not noticed it before. The little computer became her world; she observed every detail of it, seeing the chip on one corner, and in a sudden epiphany, she knew its importance. _This is the laptop Mathis is looking for. _

Lisa reached out and touched the gouge in the laptop's plastic surface. _It is. Cynthia saw this in Jack's car just after he wrecked it. She told Mathis about seeing a laptop on the seat next to him, but Jackson denied ever having one. _Jackson hadn't known it was Cynthia who had rushed to his aid at his accident - how could he? For a gleeful moment, Lisa wanted to laugh in his face at the discovery.

Jackson moved towards her, distrust in his features, as she cracked open the laptop screen. Though the computer was off, Jackson reached over her shoulder and shut it hard, pinning it closed.

Lisa looked up at him, fear prickling her skin. His expression had gone cold, his jaw tight; eyes warning her.

"Not for your eyes, Lisa. Trust me, you're better off not knowing what's in there. For your own sake." Jackson leaned defensively on the laptop, and she knew there would be no taking it from him. Keeping his hand on the computer, he jerked his chin toward the front door in a cruel dismissal. "You need to go," he said in a voice of deadly quiet. "You've been gone too long."

Stock still, Lisa looked into frosty eyes. In her excitement, she had nearly blown it for herself. Her attention to the laptop had stirred up suspicion in him again, and it would be difficult to undo the damage. Jackson had to trust her.

Expecting Jackson to seize her arm and propel her out of his house physically, Lisa was encouraged when he only waited heartlessly for her to follow his directive and head for the door on her own. When she did not, his brows furrowed in an obvious, silent query - _What more does she want? _

She bit her lip, expanding on the real apprehension she felt; letting it flow from her until she trembled visibly. Enduring his knife-like gaze, she collected her courage. One misstep, one false note would ruin all. "Jack… please…"

Jackson waited. Though his hand lingered on the laptop, his posture relaxed a trace and the tautness faded from his jaw line. But his eyes, alert as ever, scanned hers relentlessly.

Pouring all her anxiety and strain into her voice, Lisa plunged ahead, tears standing in her eyes. "Please don't leave without me."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The man looked out the private jet's small window to the city lights below. Miami looked like real civilization after flying over the Everglades, which had been an eerily black carpet of wild swampland. He would keep it in mind; it was an excellent place to dispose of a body if you happened to have one. And he would have two.

Jackson Rippner. The man ground his teeth at the thought of him. Rippner was a classic case of too much success too soon. Brilliant, ruthless and arrogant, he had risen through the ranks faster than anyone before him; and he had deserved every accolade. But it was clear that his management skills had slipped… no, collapsed, under the weight of his own egotism. He had forgotten the rules. His utterly amateurish handling of the Keefe job was a sad commentary on his loss of control.

Settling back into his seat, the man sighed. He had liked Rippner, everyone had. But, like a dangerous dog, Rippner had turned on his masters when he had shot Cade Loper to death. The idea had been floated that he was protecting the Reisert girl, but that was laughable… there was not one altruistic bone in Rippner's body. Even if he was fucking the girl - which was entirely possible - he would never waste a bullet to save someone else's life.

But it was certainly noteworthy that Jackson Rippner had remained in Miami at all after his release from the hospital. Very odd indeed.

The jet banked on its approach to the city. He would be landing in minutes. By this time tomorrow night, Rippner would be taken care of. The man peered out his window again. Whatever the traitorous little shit was doing down there tonight, he hoped he was enjoying it… this was the last night of his life.


	24. Chapter 24

Jackson let his hand slide from the laptop. He peered into Lisa's eyes, alert for any sign of duplicity, and saw only a beseeching panic. A fear of abandonment.

"Take me with you, Jack," Lisa whispered, her lips trembling.

He was unaware that he had moved close to her again until she kissed him, nipping at his lower lip in an aggressive way that made his blood roil. Both of his hands went to her face, holding her jaw as he kissed her more deeply, and Lisa pressed herself to him until her hipbones ground deliciously against his. Her overt wantonness provoked dim suspicions, but he could not - would not - break the slow burn of the kiss.

Already his arousal had returned, despite their recent bout on the couch. That had been far too quick, a wild release of lust and frustration that had only whetted his appetite for her. It was not enough.

Lisa's hands had begun a daring exploration of him, slowly tugging his shirt free of his pants, then slipping beneath, and below… Jackson sucked in a sharp breath at the bold strength of her hand. He opened his eyes to prove to himself that this was Lisa who had ventured there, before covering her soft lips with his again.

Seeking more of her, Jackson seized her by the hips and, in one smooth movement, lifted her onto the kitchen counter. He quickly shrugged out of his jacket as Lisa grazed along his jaw line with her mouth. His hand found her breast through the thin blouse she wore, caressing her lightly. But when his fingers reached the waist of her jeans and pulled at the fastenings there, Lisa grabbed his wrist. "Wait…"

"What…what is it?" With a massive effort, Jackson stayed his hand. If Lisa were planning any deception, he would be in a weakened position. But clear thinking was rapidly becoming impossible - and unwelcome. _Doesn't matter… I can handle her._

She slid from the countertop. "Not here…" Lisa panted.

----------------------

One at a time, each garment fell away, removed by his careful hands. Until she lay before him in his bed as he had always imagined… as he had dreamed of her. Lisa's perfection was such that looking at her was fulfillment enough.

Her eyes regarded him with almost trancelike luminosity as she lay waiting for his touch.

Jackson lowered himself over her, his body skimming the insides of her bare thighs. He kissed her, then started a gentle, leisurely journey over her with lips and tongue, rewarded by her appreciative sighs. Ignoring his own need, he licked the sensitive curve of her waist, the graceful hollow by her hipbone. Her scar… as a mark of strength, it bestowed Lisa with even greater allure to him and he soothed it with his lips, as if in apology for its origin.

He paused over her, and the absence of his attention made her eyes flutter open dazedly. Dark with desire, they expressed an unreserved rapture. Lisa was aware of exactly who and what he was, and yet she lay under him willingly, ready to receive him again.

She was the first ever to know him and want him regardless of his deeds.

Jackson could wait no longer; he entered her with a soft groan. Looking down at Lisa, he devoured every feature - her dark hair chaotic on the pillow, her delicate face turned to the side, and slim, scarred body moving in tandem with his.

Lisa's body flowed against him like ocean waves as she submitted to the rapture shuddering through her. Once, she reached to caress the indented scar upon his chest, but his pride hindered her bid for forgiveness, and he gently pulled her hand away. Undeterred, he lost himself in her, every forbidden emotion at last surging from him without restraint, almost painfully. He drew in a deep, shuddering gasp and released it with an impassioned cry.

-------------------------------------

She was crying. On her side, facing away from him, Lisa's breath hitched in her throat in a suppressed sob.

Jackson had yet to catch his breath; and he registered that latest effect from his lung injury. He rolled over toward Lisa, studying the tangle of auburn hair that faced him, hesitant to acknowledge her distress. She might only be wracked with shame for giving in to her attraction to him - that was for her to sort out. But, with reluctance, he reached to sweep the hair from the side of her face. "What is it, Lisa?" he murmured.

For a moment she did not answer, and her shoulder twitched inward, as if she would close herself to him. "This is just so _hard_…" came her anguished whisper.

_Ah… fear, again. _Fear of the unknown, of a new life… of death. Fears that he had long ago gotten used to. Leaning close to her, he kissed her ear, and at his touch, her hand rose to slide through his sweat-dampened hair. "Yes…." he agreed softly. "Anything worth doing is."

"Can you keep me safe?" she asked. Wanting guarantees, promises, where there could be none.

"I'll try."

And, for some reason, that made her cry harder.

--------------------------------------

Lisa followed Jackson to his front door. As she walked behind him, she noticed that the longish hair at the nape of his neck, still damp from his exertions, had a slight curl to it that she had never seen before. The wild, dark tendrils served to remind her of how little she knew about Jackson. Somewhere, there was someone who knew him… maybe once a woman who had loved him and had been fond of those almost-curls. Was it possible? Was Jackson capable of reciprocating love?

_Don't think about it. You have to think like him from now on. As if he's not a person._

Jackson checked through the peep-hole in the door, then turned to her. Appraising her in the dim light of the hallway for a long moment, he appeared to be assessing their situation. "Are you really up for this?" His tone cautious, as if doubtful she possessed the necessary resolution.

Lisa lifted her chin. "Yes."

Jackson moved closer. "You have to mean it, Leese. You have to be in for the long haul… the longest. There's no changing your mind once we go. No crying for your old life… no blaming me… none of that." His hand made a sideways, swiping motion that stopped dead, a no-bullshit-will-be-tolerated gesture. "If you make this decision, you have to commit. _Can _you do this?" he challenged.

It felt like a dare, and Lisa resented that he harbored any doubts about her commitment. "Yes," she repeated. "I understand what I have to do." It was the truth, and it lent a steely assurance to her tone.

Jackson, seeing her fortitude, nodded. "Okay." His eyes flicked over her, and Lisa glimpsed admiration in them before the veneer of shrewdness returned. "Then I need you to listen, and do exactly what I tell you now. Go back to Cynthia's. Tell her whatever you want to tell her, but set her mind at rest about where you were tonight."

Lisa nodded, her mind racing. _My God, he really intends to take me… _Whatever he had said before, it had never seemed as though Jackson had been serious about wanting her to flee with him. Until this moment.

"Tomorrow… don't pack anything. Sorry," he said coldly, responding to the minor outrage on her face. "Only take your purse, if you think you have to have it. Don't go see your dad and cry and tell him goodbye - or anyone else. Just act normally and wait for me to call."

"Do you have my cell phone number?" Lisa inquired. When Jackson recited it without missing a beat, a chill crept over her.

"When it's time, I won't be able to pick you up, Leese. The police have had me under surveillance since this morning, and I'll have to lose them… and anyone else who might be following me. When I do, I'll call and tell you where I am." Jackson's eyes pierced hers. "Be ready to drop everything - I mean _everything _- and meet me wherever I am."

Lisa swallowed hard. She had done it. It was inconceivable, but she had convinced Jackson to trust her.

Jackson peered at her closely, his voice severe but soft. "Can you do that? After I call, you'll have to come straight to me. I won't wait."

Unable to endure his intensity, she shut her eyes before answering. "Yes. I'll do whatever I have to do."

As if aroused by her words, Jackson pulled her to him and kissed her slowly then, the sultry taste of scotch whiskey lingering on his tongue - sealing the vow between them. Lisa clung to him, returning the kiss with anguished fervor; an act of contrition for what was to come. A moan of torment escaped her softly, a betrayal of the guilt that raked her, even through the pleasure.

Jackson slid his hands back through her hair, bringing his lips close to her ear, his voice silky. "We'll make it, Leese."

It was too much then. Lisa pulled away, her masquerade of control slipping in the face of his aching sincerity; she had to escape. Her vision blurred by tears, she reached for the doorknob to let herself out.

On the other side of the door, she paused before descending the steps. She would see Jackson tomorrow, but a powerful impulse to look back at him turned her around.

Jackson stood in the doorway, the overhead lamp emblazoning his dark hair with faintly reddish highlights and shadowing the hollows under his prominent cheekbones. Lisa paused, motionless, thinking he might have a final word for her, if only to say good night. But he returned her gaze in silence, and in his eyes she could only discern a troubling hint of regret.

As she went down the steps, she heard him shut the door behind her.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had overslept. The sound of a heavy-duty mower buzzed through the bedroom wall - the weekly lawn service. Jackson opened his eyes a slit, then shut them against the morning sun seeping around the edges of the window blinds. _Goddamn it… _His head pounded. Too much scotch; he had overdone it last night… after Lisa had gone.

_Lisa._

Jackson stretched out an arm, found the other pillow, and dragged it close to his face. He inhaled deeply. _Yes. _Her clean scent clung there still, a faint reminder of their enthusiastic union. It had happened.

Today was the day. The rest of his life pivoted on what would transpire as the day played out. Jackson lay still, eyes roaming his bedroom. He could feel the gravity of events waiting to develop; everything around him looked different. As if someone had decided to make a movie about his life and created a set that looked like his bedroom but was inaccurate in some subtle way he could not place.

It was Lisa. She had a dangerous way of distorting his reality.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mathis' eyes were bloodshot. He could not be more than ten years older than Lisa, but the disapproving stare he directed at her made the gap seem twice as large. He spread several pictures on the table in front of her.

She leaned forward. As she had guessed, the images were of her leaving Jackson's house.

"Care to explain it?" Mathis circled the table restlessly.

Lisa had never seen the detective so agitated.

"Care to explain why you are going out of your way to demolish everything we've worked on? And for what?" More pacing from him. He put a hand on one of the pictures and slid it toward her, his hand pressing down on it so hard she saw his fingertips whiten. "What _is _this? A social visit?"

Lisa kept her head down. Her hands writhed beneath the table.

"Couldn't get enough of the guy? Or maybe you just felt a need to catch up with each other. You know, you're making it look more and more plausible that you were both in on this together, Lisa. Do you have any idea how _damaging_ this is?" Mathis snatched one of the pictures from the table and held it before her face. "What were you thinking?"

Seeing something in her expression, the detective paused. "Don't tell me you think you're in love with Rippner," Mathis said, a note of disgust in his voice.

"No," Lisa said quietly.

"Then what were you doing there?"

Lisa finally looked up. "He still has the laptop. I saw it."

Mathis entire demeanor changed. "Oh… Jesus, Lisa." He ran both hands back through his hair and left them atop his head in pose of exasperation, then pulled out a chair across the table from her and sat, his eyes softening. "I know how badly you want to put Jackson away. But you can't just make a snap decision to investigate him yourself. My God… he could have hurt you. Going to him like that was unbelievably dangerous."

Lisa leaned forward eagerly. "I could do it again. I don't think I can get the computer from him. But I can get Jack to admit what he's done. I know I can." Determination shone in her eyes.

Mathis studied Lisa; her almost fanatical zeal to return to Rippner was unnerving. "You want to wear a wire." It was not a question.

"Yes."

Mathis inhaled deeply and considered. She could break the case for them, but only at great risk to herself. "I don't like the idea, Lisa."

"I can do it," Lisa repeated. "He trusts me."

"Does he? What makes you say that?" Mathis slouched back in his seat in his characteristic manner and cocked an eyebrow at her.

Lisa wavered. Powerful, new memories of Jackson broke over her, and her pulse quickened. Jackson, his control broken, panting huskily into her ear…

Mathis waited silently.

_Oh, God… _Feeling her face burn, Lisa cleared her throat. "Because I gave him something he wanted."

"You had sex with him," Mathis stated grimly. "Okay." He directed his attention to an area in the corner of the ceiling and clucked disapprovingly. "Well… that probably wasn't the smartest thing you could have done, Lisa. But what's done is done, and maybe we can use that to our advantage. I'm _not _happy about it," he asserted, wanting to drive the point home.

"I know," Lisa nodded. "But _he_ is."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Trust. _

Trust was such a pathetically delicate phenomenon, ever shifting and evolving. With the smallest of actions - a smirk, a caress… even a single word's placement or inflection - it could strengthen or diminish. Jackson scorned trust - an exotic, ephemeral concept he had only exploited in life to attain what he wanted. Convincing people to trust you when they should not was easy, if you were charming enough. People wanted to believe, in most cases. Pretending to believe in another person was even easier, requiring no true investment of self. But this… this was the real deal.

_Can I trust her?_

Jackson cleared the steam from his bathroom mirror and challenged his reflection. Lisa had taken him up on his offer. He had not expected it. Had longed for it, maybe even fantasized about it, but never had he thought she would actually come to him.

Guiding the razor over his neck, his eye was drawn to the small scar at the base of his throat, a more vibrant red after the heat of his shower. His souvenir of what had happened the last time he had trusted Lisa - a deep puncture wound an inch from a major artery and a hair's breadth away from rendering him voiceless. He paused, razor in hand, and leaned on the sink as ugly, deep-rooted anger seeped to the surface of his mind like sewage from a broken pipe.

_Do I trust her?_


	25. Chapter 25

"Sorry about the paperwork, Lisa," Mathis said. "Do you want me to get you something to eat?"

Lisa shook her head. The thought of eating had no appeal. Somberly, she looked over the form again, her pen hesitating over the line at the bottom that awaited her signature. In typically intimidating language, the paper enumerated the risks and benefits of becoming an informant for the Miami Police Department - dwelling mostly on the risks. She stared at the words until they merged on the page before her eyes, and still her pen hovered.

She had not expected her conviction to waver so soon; immobilizing waves of doubt crashed over her.

With Mathis watching closely, she clicked the pen repeatedly, pretending to read the sheet over once more. _This shouldn't be hard… _At last she had the opportunity to _do_ something. To end the insufferable conditions that Jackson had imposed upon her life.

But ending the pain would also irrevocably end the pleasure. By signing the document, she would deal a death blow to her poignant link with Jackson. She drew a finger along her bottom lip and glanced at Mathis. Startled by his intense stare as he waited, she coughed out a nervous laugh.

"This is your decision to make, Lisa. You don't have to sign. If it sounds like too much, just say the word. We'll go back to what we were doing before."

"What we were doing before wasn't working for me," Lisa said, rubbing the edge of the paper in her fingers fretfully.

Another officer entered the room and handed a blue sheet to Mathis, who sat up sharply. The officer nodded at Lisa before exiting, and she gave him a weak smile. Mathis read the paper's contents quickly, then tossed it on the table, spinning it with a harsh wrist snap.

"What is it?" Lisa asked, grateful for even a moment's distraction.

"Rippner's gunshot residue test results," Mathis said. "Negative," he cast a thwarted eye at the offending page, before turning his attention to her again.

_Negative. _Meaning there had been nothing on Jackson's hands to link him to the shooting outside her condo. It had been her last hope. If the test had been positive, Mathis could have arrested Jackson immediately, and she would not have to involve herself as she had so rashly proposed. But now…

Gritting her teeth, Lisa signed the paper.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The BMW's temperature gauge displayed a ridiculous 114 degrees - a measurement more representative of the car's black metal hood than the air temperature. Already broiling hot, and just past noon. It was nearly the end of September, and Jackson wondered when, or if, it would begin to cool in Miami. He would not be here to find out.

Jackson lifted his cell phone from the car's console, making sure it was fully charged. He had driven around town for over an hour as a test run for his final bolt from Miami, and, as far as he could tell, he was under relatively light police surveillance. Only two unmarked Crown Vics shuffling around in his slipstream; vanishing and reappearing at various intervals.

They were less troublesome to Jackson than the possibility that an additional vehicle might be tailing him - one carrying the latest assassin from the organization. Surely by now that person was in town, but Jackson had yet to spot a likely candidate in traffic.

Jackson ran errands. He stopped at the store for bottled water and a newspaper, and visited Starbucks in hopes that the steaming, frothy potion would smooth the last vestiges of his hangover. The only cars that cropped up repeatedly in his travels were the Crown Vics - just a couple of cops keeping an eye on him for Mathis.

He sipped from his tall cup and eyed the newspaper on the car seat beside him. Loper's death had made the front page. **MAN SHOT TO DEATH OUTSIDE HOME OF LUX BOMBING SUSPECT**. Below the dramatic headline was a large color photo of Lisa's Camry and environs festooned with yellow police tape.

Jackson had been to blame for dozens of headlines in his career, but had never been worried by them. Until now. This was too close to him… and it hadn't even been necessary. If he had fled weeks ago, upon his release from the hospital, by now he would be a long way away; cleanly separated from Miami, instead of generating additional mayhem. But his old code of conduct had deserted him, and he had been unable to make himself leave. It was that disturbingly simple.

Staring down at the stark headline as he waited for the traffic light to change, Jackson had the disconcerting feeling that he had overlooked some vital element. _Wouldn't be the first time… _he reproached himself. Not knowing about Lisa's rape had left him unprepared to clamp down on her sufficiently during their flight. Even then, he had felt that there was something about Lisa he was missing, but had underestimated its importance. He did not want to make the same mistake again.

Last night, when Lisa had come to him, he had considered the possibility that she could be wearing a wire for the police. But, having later removed every article of clothing from her himself, he knew that was not the case. No, she had come to him out of fear… and primal attraction.

The light turned green and Jackson moved on, the Crown Victoria hounding him a dozen car lengths back. _I don't have to take her. I should be more worried about whether I can even make it out of town tonight. _

The idea of jettisoning Lisa was attractive in its way; it would leave him free of any encumbrance, significantly more agile for the sudden moves being a fugitive required. It was insane to even consider taking Lisa with him. Last night's pleasure should be left to stand alone and untarnished; an immaculate send-off for his journey into darkness.

_I don't need her._

He turned for home, wanting to grab a final few hours of relaxation. Life was about to change.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Ugly._ Lisa's first impression upon seeing the body-worn surveillance equipment as the female officer set it on the table was revulsion. _God, it's ugly._

"Hello, Lisa. I'm Officer Diaz." The officer had black hair pulled into a severe clip, exposing a broad but attractive face.

"Hi," Lisa said, staring at the intimidating jumble of slender wires. Band-Aid colored and flexible, they were both smaller than she had expected and bigger than she had wished for.

Mathis stood away, letting Diaz, who was all business, take over. "This is the body wire you'll be wearing. It's worn under your shirt, on the front of the upper body. With women, we generally try to conceal it in the bra." Diaz picked up the equipment from the table and handed it to Lisa. "It has a maximum range of five miles, so we'll never be farther away that that."

"Five _miles_?" Lisa blurted, her eyes darting to Mathis.

The detective stepped in. "We can't risk getting too close, Lisa. Have to stay well out of Jackson's view. Most times we'll be only one mile away, two at most."

"How will you know where I am?" Panic was setting in. Abhorring the feel of the wires in her hands, she put them down.

"With this," Diaz said. She handed Lisa a small, dense-feeling black object the size of a matchbox. "This is one of the smallest GPS devices in production. Just slip it in your purse, or your pocket. We won't lose you, Lisa. We'll know exactly where you are at all times."

Lisa stared at the lengths of body wire, trying to imagine it secreted beneath her bra. "Um… what if… what if Jackson decides…"

"…to get a little frisky?" Mathis finished for her. "Lisa, all we can do is hope that he doesn't."

A grave silence descended over the room. Mathis could make no promises. If Jackson discovered the device, she would be on her own. _If he finds it, he'll kill me. _The daunting mission was beginning to seem more and more impossible. Her pulse raced.

Mathis spoke slowly. "Lisa, how do you think Jackson might react when faced with capture? Is there a chance he might take his own life?"

Lisa furrowed her brows, shaking her head. "No. No, that's not Jack at all. He would see that as a coward's way out. And… he likes himself too much."

"People can do drastic things in desperate situations, Lisa. But, to be honest, we're much more concerned for your welfare than for his," Mathis revealed. "We have to be prepared for the possibility that Jackson might want to take someone down with him when we move in. And it's not out of the question that he might hold you hostage at that moment."

Leaning forward until her elbows rested on the table, Lisa remembered Jackson's eyes in the airplane bathroom; the way rage had ignited there with terrifying swiftness. He had bounced her around the walls and choked her for lying to him - how would he react to such a calculated betrayal as this? The thought chilled her to the bone.

But there was last night between them now, and she clung to the memory desperately. Jackson's surprising tenderness; his lips on her scar… healing her. Their intimacy might have elevated her to personhood in his eyes, but more likely it would dangerously intensify his feelings of betrayal in the end. Lisa shut her eyes, as if doing so could block out the memory of Jackson's soft voice as he had caressed her at his door last night…

"_We'll make it, Leese." _

The wire on the table before her had taken on new meaning; no longer a purveyor of justice but a vile instrument of deceit. Gripped by sudden nausea, Lisa stood so quickly she nearly knocked her chair over. "Excuse me," she muttered, and dashed from the room.

---------------------------------------------------

Backing out of the driveway, Jackson paused to survey his stunning home for a last time. Night wind hissed through the tall palm trees in a breathy farewell. Though he had only lived in the house for little more than two weeks, he had enjoyed it and its luxuries - particularly the bed, since last night - and it would have been nice to stay.

But nice things didn't happen to him.

He put the BMW in gear. Two minutes out of Imperial Lakes, the first Crown Vic appeared in his rearview mirror. Jackson settled into his seat more comfortably, shrugging to relax his taut shoulder muscles. As soon as he could shake the police surveillance, he had a long night of driving ahead of him.

-----------------------------------------------------

Lisa longed to scratch and shift the wires lining the undersides of her breasts, but with Mathis standing by her open car window, she could not. The device pinched beneath her bra was uncomfortable, both physically and psychologically. She fingered her cell phone, lifting it and checking yet again. The sun had set, and darkness was taking command.

_He's not going to call. He's too smart. He doesn't trust me. _Lisa recited the mental mantra, as if thinking the words would make them happen.

Lisa glanced at Mathis. He was the picture of patience, standing next to her car to keep her company as they waited for the cell to ring. Two unmarked vans waited a distance away, parking lights glowing in the dusky, moist air - Mathis would follow her in one of them when Jackson called. The wind was picking up, and a few stray raindrops splattered on the windshield.

Mathis, his attention caught by another officer, raised his eyebrows questioningly at the man, then nodded in affirmation. He turned back to Lisa. "He says that Jackson just slipped our surveillance a few minutes ago."

"Isn't that a bad thing?" Lisa said, surprised at his unconcerned tone.

"No. The officers let him go deliberately. We want Jackson to think he's in the clear, so that he'll feel confident enough to call you."

"He might leave without me."

Mathis shook his head, pouching out his bottom lip. "I know obsession when I see it. Jackson's not going anywhere without you, Lisa."

Lisa's mouth was dry in her anxiety; her hand held the phone with a limp shakiness. She tried to inhale deeply, but it seemed she could not pull air into the depths of her lungs where she needed it most. Where had her determination gone? That morning, she had come to the police station with icy steadfastness. Now, only twelve hours later, it had evaporated.

_Please don't call me, Jack… _

_---_------------------------------------

The BMW crept to a stop, tires crunching over gravel and limestone.

Jackson looked over his shoulder once more to confirm his isolation. He was free, but only for a short time. The smart thing to do now was keep moving, but here he was, idling under a half-built overpass that looked long abandoned. Rusty rebar protruded from the edges of the silent, unused monolith that loomed high above his car. Jackson turned off his lights and monitored his surroundings.

This was the ugly side of Miami - docks, hulking ships lolling on the dark water, strip bars across the street. It was depressing. A drunkard with a greenish beard shuffled past, head turned towards the glittering black BMW lurking in the shadows. Jackson laughed at himself in disgust, knowing that he probably looked like some rich junkie waiting for his dealer. And it was not that far from the truth.

Earlier that day, he had resolved not to take Lisa with him when he ran. No matter what. His departure from Miami was going to be dicey - it needed to be made solo.

But, like the addict who increases his dose each time, knowing that the next needleful might well be the one to kill him, Jackson gravitated inexorably toward the promise of the rush. Each time he had been with Lisa had moved him farther from rationality, until he no longer recognized his own thought patterns. Stroking his cell phone with a finger, he blew out a breath of self-loathing.

He could obtain some compensation for the whole pathetic mess that had once been the Keefe operation - Lisa herself. The truth was, he was greedy; he had never denied himself a hard-earned reward. And as a prize, Lisa could make it worthwhile; balancing the suffering he'd endured with ample pleasure.

He deserved her. _God, yes_… Jackson leaned back in his seat, remembering Lisa in his bed, eyes glowing with her understanding of him… and something else.

Acceptance.

-----------------------------

The phone beeped in Lisa's hand, jolting her as if with an electric shock. Green letters lit the display with the ominous word _Unknown. _"I think this is him," Lisa said, her voice thin.

"Answer it, Lisa," Mathis said, leaning down close by her window.

She put the phone by her ear, praying that it was a wrong number; Jackson was leaving her behind, he was on the interstate already, driving at breakneck speed away from her treachery… "Hello?"

"Leese."

Lisa's eyes closed. "Yeah?"

"It's time. Are you ready?" He sounded so calm.

"Yes. Where are you?" Lisa distractedly leaned away from Mathis, to focus on Jackson's voice.

"There's a highway under construction… I'm parked under a half-built overpass. Do you know the one?"

Lisa's mind ran frenetically for several seconds before his description clicked. "Yes," she answered. He was in the industrial district, beneath an expressway that, when the budget ran dry several years ago, had never been completed.

"I'll be here for ten minutes, Lisa. Not a second longer."

"All right, J…" But he had already ended the call; the cell slipped from Lisa's clammy palm. She faced Mathis. "He's under the Bayshore Expressway."

"Okay," Mathis reached through the window and put a hand on her shoulder. "Good luck, Lisa. Remember, go easy. If it takes you a few hours to get what we need, that's fine. Just be careful. We'll be with you all the time."

_Yeah. A mile or two behind me. _She could only nod, a faint squeak of assent escaping her airless throat. Mathis left her, jogging to one of the vans.

Biting down on her lip until it throbbed, Lisa pulled onto the street. Behind her, the vans' lights winked on like eyes opening, and she pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

Jack was waiting for her.


	26. Chapter 26

_Has our conscience shown?_

_Has the sweet breeze blown?_

_Has all kindness gone?_

_Hope still lingers on…_

_Collective Soul "The World I Know"_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She could feel them in her wake.

Though the vans and unmarked police cars were far behind and out of sight, Lisa felt the drag of their weighty presence as she drove; sensed them as they fanned out after her like a vast wing unfolding. Mathis had told her that every police officer in Dade, Broward, and Collier County was aware of tonight's operation. At the moment it was over, there would be massive support from law enforcement.

Jackson would not escape.

Lisa drove fast, keeping an anxious eye on the clock. "_I'll be here for ten minutes. Not a second longer," _Jackson had said.

Visible from afar even in the dark, the towering structure of the uncompleted expressway guided her. Reaching the older street that ran alongside and below it, she slowed, searching the shadowed area beneath the overpass for Jackson's car.

-------------

In his rearview mirror, Jackson watched Lisa's Camry move with slow caution down the street. No one appeared to have followed her, but he would not be convinced so easily. Haste was critical now; he clenched one hand into a fist with edgy repetition and turned to watch her lingering approach through his rear window.

Out of nowhere, instinctual alarm slashed Jackson. _It's wrong. All wrong… _His foot tensed on the accelerator, causing the parked BMW to growl eagerly and rock forward in its place, like a dog straining the limits of its chain.

The lights swung toward him, and as the car bumped over the uneven ground, Jackson made out Lisa's silhouette inside. _She's here. _Reining in the mystifying inclination to desert Lisa, he relaxed. After all he had endured, and how long he had waited for this moment, Jackson was not about to let a gutless flare of doubt deny him what he wanted.

He held his ground. Narrowing his eyes against the white light reflected in the rearview mirror, he watched as Lisa's car parked close behind his.

------------

_I'm not going to get hurt. _

Lisa got out of her car and shut the door, the sound echoing hollowly under the overpass. The obsidian BMW crouched wickedly before her, flaunting its out of place affluence in the garbage-strewn shadows. As she walked up behind it, Jackson revved the engine, signaling his desire to be off at once.

A train grumbled and clattered past somewhere nearby as Lisa approached Jackson's passenger door, the ground vibrating under her feet as if to accentuate the enormity of the moment. More aware than ever of the wire against her body, she quickly jumped into the car and closed herself in with Jackson.

"Hi, Lisa." His smooth voice trigged dread and excitement within her.

She set her purse, which carried the tiny GPS device, on the floor in front of her seat. _Look at him, damn it. _Lisa turned to Jackson, attempting a faded smile that was doomed from the start. "Hi," she managed to breathe. Already Jackson had put the car in motion, pulling out onto the street.

Lisa's hands clutched at one another in a telling display of nerves, and she separated them quickly. _Do it. Get something for Mathis, and get this over with. _"You know, I thought a lot about what you said last night. And you're right. I should have thanked you for…"

Jackson peered at her as he turned onto the boulevard that led out of the industrial district, palming the wheel casually. "Lisa, I need to concentrate on getting out of town right now. Can this conversation wait until I accomplish that?"

---------------------------------------------

As the van went over a section of rough road, Mathis pressed one side of his headphones tighter against his ear and watched the GPS monitor. The triangular cursor showed the BMW making swift progress through the outskirts of Miami. "Pick up the pace; he's getting too far ahead," Mathis directed the van's driver.

Lisa was holding up, but Jackson was not giving her any sort of opening for talk. Twenty-nine minutes had passed, with no dialogue between them since she had first gotten in his car. The only sounds now were the vehicle itself, and Rippner's stereo.

"Well, at least we're finding out what kind of music the bastard likes," quipped Smith, the officer assisting Mathis with the wiretap. "Can we charge him with bad fucking taste?"

Mathis turned a baleful eye toward Smith, who immediately shut up.

-------------------------------------------------

Lisa swallowed nervously; she had assumed that Jackson would leave Miami via Interstate 95. If he had, the police could have blended in with the other vehicles and followed more closely.

But Jackson was taking Alligator Alley.

A sixty-mile length of highway that sliced in a perfectly straight line through the heart of the Everglades, Alligator Alley was the most exposed and isolated route away from Miami. Along both sides of the desolate highway there was only endless sawgrass, swampland and clumps of palmettos; an unfriendly landscape made maximally more threatening by the complete darkness.

Jackson had chosen it for that very reason; if anyone were to follow them, their lights would be visible from a great distance. He would have adequate warning of any threat.

_Oh God… _Lisa stared into her side mirror at the ever more distant shimmer of Miami. There was no sign of any vehicles behind them. Where was Mathis?

Jackson was driving very fast now; Lisa dared to steal a look at him. He was calm and in control, and it was almost as though she were not in the car with him at all. Focusing on the dark road ahead, his eyes occasionally moved to his mirror as he kept watch for any sign of a pursuer.

They had the highway to themselves.

------------------------

_She's fucking terrified. _

Lisa's visible fear triggered a mental flashback to their flight; it was in the white-knuckled grip of her hand on the armrest and her blank stare - only she was more afraid now. Jackson sighed inwardly. She had been stronger and more prepared last night. _Maybe I should have left with her then. Or maybe I shouldn't be taking her at all…_

Slowing the car, Jackson eased it off the road and onto the shoulder, the long grass hissing against the undercarriage. Lisa turned to him in greater distress. Jackson parked the vehicle and turned to her, resting his forearm on the steering wheel as if they had all the time in the world.

He waited. Lisa's complexion was wan, her jaw line rigid; she had no ability to hide her fear. "Lisa," Jackson began, rubbing his chin meditatively, "I can't have you with me if you're going to be a nervous wreck." He watched her eyes closely. "You understand that, don't you?"

Lisa nodded, lips tight.

Jackson nodded back. "Good. See, I can't help but notice that you've been sitting over there looking like I'm about to drive this car off a cliff. And that makes me wonder what exactly it is you're afraid of."

---------------

Lisa forced herself to maintain eye contact with Jackson. Arm still draped carelessly over the wheel, he leaned toward her. "You have no reason to be scared of me, Leese. You're on my side now."

Her heart hammered in her chest with such rapid force that she wondered madly if Mathis could hear it in his headphones. "I know," she said, amazed at the evenness of her voice.

"Then what's the problem?" Irritation was creeping into his voice. "You wanted to come with me. Last night in my kitchen, you were begging me not to leave you." He looked her over in disappointment.

The prospect of losing Jackson's hard-won respect jolted Lisa out of her stupor of fright. She was not afraid of Jackson himself. It was the wire. The wire against her flesh was the true source of her anxiety and the sole reason she feared him. Gathering the shreds of her composure, she straightened in her seat and raised her chin defiantly. "I'm fine. I'm sorry if I'm not as nonchalant about this as you want me to be."

Jackson tilted his head pensively. "You'll get used to this, Leese. And you'll wonder how you ever lived any other way."

Lisa chewed her lip. The conversation was not going at all how she had expected. Jackson's eyes softened with the same languor they possessed when he made love to her. "You don't feel it yet… but you're more free now than you have ever been," he murmured. He caressed her face, letting his thumb rest on her bottom lip, and she fought the powerful urge to take it into her mouth.

Mathis was listening. Dozens of police officers were waiting for evidence. But she was paralyzed before the blue depths of Jackson's eyes.

He slid his thumb along her lip, his heated gaze following its path. "You're with me now. Our lives depend on you being honest with me, and with yourself. You have some soul-searching to do. Either I'm the one who ruined your life… or I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."

_Or both. _His arrogantly positive words were enthralling, reaching a place in her very essence that she had not expected. The bitter irony of the moment between them was almost unbearable; useless to the police and heartbreakingly meaningful to her. With the wire, she had chained herself to her old life - a life she could never truly resurrect.

Jackson offered her something she had never known she wanted… but now, recognizing it too late, she could not take it.

He leaned in and kissed her, tasting her hungrily. Lisa laced weakened arms about his neck and met him with matching emotion, abandoning herself to fate. The soft lightness of his hair in her fingers, she poured her soul into the kiss, knowing it was to be the last time.

If Jackson was meant to discover her deceit, she could not stop him.

-----------------

Jackson wanted her.

Wanted to take her in the front seat like a horny teenager, with the hot night pressing against the windows. Exploring her mouth with his, he wrapped an arm around Lisa's body and bent her back until her head nearly touched her window. Breaking the kiss, she moaned softly, and her body writhed sensually beneath his. Intoxicated, Jackson responded in kind, exhaling heavily against her neck before claiming her lips again. Last night had been a dizzying sample of what they would share together, and he was impatient for more.

But he could not waste any more time on the side of the road. _Not yet. I can have her anytime I want. _The thought momentarily increased his arousal, and he pulled her to him, voraciously deepening the kiss, before releasing her.

Lisa's slender arms slid from his shoulders, and she looked into him as she had the night before. Everything halted between them, the only sound their light breathing. _Yes. _Lisa would go through the very gates of hell for him. Her eyes told him the truth, even if her lips would not.

But as he watched, Lisa's eyes filled with tears and her chin wobbled, her emotions overtaking her again. _Damn it_. It was frustrating - she was made of stronger stuff than this.

Jackson sat back. If Lisa could not control her despondency, he would manage it for her. He pressed the button to lower her window. And, as she turned her head towards the rush of warm air, Jackson reached down, seized her purse from the floor, and hurled it out the window. It vanished into the blackness, making a distinct splash where it landed in the water-filled ditch beyond.

Lisa gasped.

She faced him, her mouth open in outrage. _Good. _Better anger than fear or sadness. Anger was familiar; he could tolerate it.

Jackson started the car rolling forward, maneuvering off the grass and back onto the road. Lisa stared at him in offended silence. "A clean break, Leese," Jackson said. "Your old life is over. Throw a kiss and wave goodbye."

"Oh my God…" she said quietly.

"Don't start," Jackson said warningly, his eyes darting to her.

-------------------------------------------

Mathis stared at the GPS screen, a hand crushed against his upper lip. The cursor had blinked for a moment, but remained exactly where it had been for the last five minutes - 15.3 miles along Alligator Alley and motionless.

However, Mathis could hear the BMW's acceleration in his headphones. "Shit. I think Rippner may have just tossed the GPS. We need to get moving."

"She's losing her nerve. She hasn't gotten a goddamn thing from him yet," complained Smith.

Mathis shot him a look. "She will." The van started moving again.

--------------------------------------------

"_Your old life is over."_

Lisa watched the road ahead. As Jackson pushed the BMW to greater speed, the white lines in the road became a mesmerizing blur. Her old life was indeed over; it had ended the moment she first sat in seat 18G on the airplane. Since then, Lisa had thought foolishly that if she made the correct decisions, balance would eventually be restored and her life would right itself. But through it all, she had overlooked what was now devastatingly clear - that Jackson was too large a part of her life to remove without damage.

_I've done it all wrong. _

The pieces had been there all along, she had put them together and doubted the logical simplicity of the result. Her picture in Jackson's pocket… the security camera image of him threatening Jenkins… his frantic call to her from his hospital bed… the dead man outside her condo…

Lisa closed her eyes. Jackson had stayed in Miami, risking himself, for only one reason.

For her.

Numb with remorseful guilt, Lisa sat in silence, as if Mathis and the other officers, realizing her cooperation had reached its limits, would release her from the obligation and allow her to flee with Jackson into the night. But that would not happen. Tonight Jackson was to receive a knife in the chest - by her hand.

There was no way out.

---------------

Headlights. In his mirror.

Jackson sat sentinel, his brow furrowing at the distant vehicle far to the rear. He pushed the BMW faster still, and it seemed to lift, becoming weightless in its velocity. Lisa had gone dead silent and he supposed that was a good sign. Instant compliance from her was essential, and he might need her to exercise it soon. He would know within minutes.

The lights behind had grown in luminosity. Definitely getting closer. He was driving at close to ninety miles per hour, and this car was catching him. _Fuck. _Though it might be only an innocent traveler who did not want to linger on the remote highway, Jackson felt a gut-level tension that told him otherwise.

Like a godsend, a sign flashed past out of the darkness that he just had time to read - a rest area only a mile ahead. The place was a radiant beacon in the distance, and Jackson made a quick decision. Better to stop, turn and make a stand, if there was one to be made, than to drag his potential pursuer for another forty miles.

Jackson drew in a deep, bracing breath. "Lisa, I'm going to stop at this rest area up here," he pointed with two fingers atop the steering wheel. On their rapid approach, he could see that the small building was little more than an isolated outpost lit by a single streetlamp.

Lisa turned to him apprehensively.

Jackson glanced at her. "When I do, I want you to get out of the car and go in the bathroom." _For fuck's sake, please don't argue with me. Just this once. _"Lock the door and stay in there until I tell you to come out."

Lisa looked over her shoulder at the lights behind them, terrified comprehension dawning on her face.

"Lisa," Jackson snapped. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes, yes!"

Jackson barreled toward the rest area, only slowing at the last moment. The BMW slewed into the small parking lot, tires protesting the sudden move with a long screech, and Lisa's hand clamped down on her armrest. Jackson brought the car to a swift stop in front of the building.

Lisa threw her door wide and swung a leg out, then turned back to him, panic and anguish despoiling her elegant features. Hesitating, as if afraid to go on without him. Jackson looked at her with regret - she was so tragically out of her element.

Through her open door, Jackson could hear the approaching car. Coming fast - whispering up the blacktop. But he wanted only to look at Lisa, to etch her beautiful face into his consciousness.

There was no more to be said. They had run out of time.

"Get in there, Leese," he said calmly, flicking his eyes toward the small block building.

And she was gone, closing him into the quiet interior alone. Jackson watched her dash into the women's restroom and pull the door closed. The door appeared to be made of metal - that was good.

Spinning the wheel quickly in his hands, Jackson repositioned the BMW parallel to the front of the building, passenger side almost against Lisa's restroom door, hoping the car's steel body would add an extra layer of defense for her.

The other car, a Mercedes, had reached the rest area. It swerved off the road, headlights making Jackson squint as he struggled to see the driver. As the car neared, several surreal points of perspective came over him.

How funny it would be if this was only some guy with diarrhea in a hurry to get in the bathroom and wondering why a BMW was in the way.

How he knew that was not the case, and that he might be looking at the last few seconds of his life.

And an ironic stab of delayed remorse; the first he had felt. Remorse that he had played at being Lisa's protector for weeks, when in fact his presence in her life was to blame for her endangerment.

And the words he had never said to her but should have.

_I'm sorry, Lisa…_

The Mercedes rolled swiftly up next to him.

_But I'd do it all over again._

_------_

Lisa pressed herself against the door, listening. The BMW was just on the other side, engine smoothly chugging, and she knew Jackson had placed it there as a shield. Protecting her.

Backing away from the door, tears flowing freely, she reached beneath her shirt and grasped handfuls of the wire, tearing the detestable thing from her body. _He doesn't deserve this. _Gasping and struggling to drag the entangled device from her bra, she heard the other car pull into the parking lot.

Shots exploded from beyond the door, and Lisa dropped to the floor, her mouth open in a soundless scream. Shot after thunderous shot rang out, merging with the somehow more terrifying crunch of bullet-ridden glass. She flattened herself against the filthy tile, hands over her ears.

The silence after was deafening. Lisa half-crawled, half-slithered to the far corner of one of the stalls, sure that someone would try to enter the room at any moment. Sobbing, she crouched in a tight ball, one hand unconsciously pulling the wire free at last and tossing it aside.

She listened.

A car drove away.

Not Jack's BMW - she could still hear it running outside the door. The monotonous sound of his car idling wore on her as the seconds turned into minutes, but she could not make herself rise from the tissue littered floor.

Jackson had not called to her.

_Get up… he might need you. _Lisa stood and inched toward the door on legs that shook violently. Reaching it, she rested her forehead against the cool metal, feeling faint. _Don't go out there. Jack told you to stay in here until… _

She listened.

The BMW ran incessantly. Millions of frogs croaked with high-pitched dissonance, a memory of summer nights. Nothing outside stirred. Crying, Lisa slid her hands over the dirty, smudged door until her fingers wrapped around the handle.

She listened…


	27. Chapter 27

Mathis sat bolt upright at the terrifying sounds in his headphones. Lisa's gasping sobs, interspersed with the scratchy static of the body wire being handled.

Being removed. _Holy shit…_

Before he could react, an onslaught of gunfire popped in his ears. "Shots fired! Everyone - get in there! _Now!_"

-----------------------

With a stiff grip around the door's handle, Lisa desperately sought the courage to open it and face what was on the other side.

_Jack's dead._

She shook her head in horror-struck denial, tears coursing painfully. Forehead against the door, she looked down its surface to see a rounded protrusion where a bullet had nearly penetrated. Her finger crept to it. Exhaust fumes from the BMW seeped beneath the door as it continued to run senselessly.

Then, a sound. A new sound. She pressed closer to the door.

Vehicles approaching.

The squeal of brakes and hollow roll of van doors being flung wide. _Mathis. _The detective's voice barked a command to the other officers. Lisa felt no relief at Mathis' arrival, only a lifeless resignation.

No one yelled at Jackson to surrender or addressed him in any way.

A hard, rapid knock reverberated on her door, startling her away from it.

"Lisa! Lisa, are you in there?" Mathis called.

"Yes!" Her cry echoed in the small room.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes," she answered mournfully, sweeping a hand through the slick tears on her face.

"Hang on, Lisa, until we make sure it's safe out here. Are you hurt?" Anxiety in his voice.

"No, no - I'm okay."

Random bellowing from all directions: other officers, the voices of some coming from behind the building. Shouting that the area was clear.

Mathis knocked again, this time with less force.

Yanking the door open, Lisa scarcely spared Mathis a glance. Jackson had parked the BMW so that she barely had room to squeeze out of the bathroom, supporting herself with a hand against the passenger window, which was shot through in two places. She bent quickly to see inside the car.

The front seat was empty.

The driver's door stood ajar, its window hideously shattered by gunfire. On the ground beyond the open door she saw his legs… where he had fallen.

Everything inside Lisa rose to a shrieking crescendo of loss, and she shoved past Mathis.

"Lisa, don't…" Mathis tried to hold onto her, but she fought out of his grasp and raced around the back of Jackson's car. She had to see.

He was facedown, half crumpled over, in a massive pool of blood.

And he was not Jackson.

Relief collapsed her to her knees. She could not see the dead man's face, but his silver hair was proof enough. Throwing her head back, she wanted to laugh, sob, scream a release, but the emotions were restricted by deep shock.

"Lisa, where's Jackson?" Mathis asked tersely. "What happened here?"

Lisa struggled to think lucidly, but only one thought emerged.

_He's gone. _

She licked her lips and forced herself to speak. "There was another car… I heard it leave…"

"You didn't see it?"

"No…no…"

Mathis yelled to another officer, "Get this highway closed at both ends and stop all drivers. Our subject is in an unknown vehicle." The officer relayed the command over his radio, and Lisa regretted her helpful words.

Stunned, Lisa sat down on the pavement, staring at the body next to Jackson's car. The coppery smell of spilled blood was nauseating, and she covered her nose and mouth. _He drove away from here… he's not dead. Jack's not dead. _Her head was spinning from the overwhelming turn of events. Jackson was alive, but he had left her. _Why? _

Mathis shouted to the officer again. "Advise that Rippner is armed, and may be wounded."

Lisa's eyes roamed over the pavement. The gruesome pool beneath the dead man was not the only sign of bloodshed: droplets and dribbles led away from him in a short path that ended abruptly - where the other car had surely been. Her heart lurched into her throat. Jack had been shot, and was now speeding down the dark highway in a final bid for escape.

The intense emotion and stress were too much. Clambering to her feet, Lisa dashed to the edge of the parking lot, where she threw up into the grass. In her misery she scarcely noticed Mathis, who had followed her and placed a gentle hand on her back.

"It's over, Lisa. It's all over… he won't get far."

His words made her retch again. More than anything, she did not want it to be over.

"You've been brave through all of this. It took a hell of a lot to get in that car with him," Mathis said with admiration.

_Getting out was a lot harder_, Lisa thought bitterly. If she had stayed in the car, Jackson might not have left her behind. Praise from Mathis meant nothing to her while Jackson was on the highway, wounded and alone. Lisa straightened, her back to the detective.

Three police cars whipped past on the highway, lights flashing but sirens ominously mute as they shot into the distance. Going after Jackson full-force.

_They'll kill him. _

Because of her betrayal, the police surrounded Jackson in a vast net that was rapidly closing upon him. And she was powerless to stop it.

Numb with gut-churning repentance and dread, she held a clenched fist to her lips. _Run, Jack… _she pleaded, willing him to drive faster, almost seeing him in her mind's eye - Jackson straining forward in his seat, every muscle tensed, eyes fixed on the dark highway. _Faster, Jack… _

Except there was nowhere for him to go; Alligator Alley was now barricaded by police. Jackson was trapped as surely as if he were in a tunnel.

"Lisa." Mathis behind her, forgotten. "I need to talk to you."

Lisa faced him with reluctance, her sense of collaboration exhausted. She had parted company with the detective less than an hour before, and since then her loyalties had undergone a titanic shift. Mathis was now her adversary.

The detective observed her change of attitude with wariness. "What happened to the wire, Lisa?"

"I took it off." Pride surged through her at the admission.

"I thought so." Surprisingly, he did not dwell on her removal of the body wire. "I need you to tell me - as near as you can figure out - what happened outside."

Lisa's gaze fell upon Jackson's car, and she walked slowly towards it, drawn by the disastrous spectacle of its ruin. The running motor was a wrenching sign of how quickly Jackson had left the scene, and broken bits of window glass sparkled on the ground below the open door like scattered diamonds; rubies where they were immersed in blood.

"Did Jackson kill this man for his car? To make a switch?"

"No," Lisa said firmly. "The car was following us." Anger flared within her. "Weren't you _listening_?" Her eyes crackled in fury.

Mathis absorbed her rage neutrally. "Yes, I was. And Jackson never made mention of another car pursuing him. He only said that he was going to stop here," Mathis gestured around them.

Lisa tried to remember, but the final flight to the rest area was a blur. She only saw Jackson's eyes… his eyes as she had hesitated to get out of his car… the transcendent stillness in him…

"Jack put himself between me and this man who tried to kill us," Lisa thrust a finger at the body, frustrated with the detective's unwillingness to see. "Isn't it obvious? Why can't you believe that?"

Mathis waited before responding. "You've been under a lot of stress tonight, Lisa. You don't need to be here for all of this; I'll have an officer drive you back to town."

"No," Lisa refused. Mathis' eyebrows lifted, but she went on, no longer caring how the detective perceived her. "I'm part of this investigation; I have done everything you've asked from the very beginning. I've cooperated in ways nobody in their right mind would, and you are not going to just send me away now. I'm not going _anywhere._"

Mathis turned to watch two more police cars race by the rest area: a flash of red and blue, then gone. "Okay, Lisa. You can stay… you've earned it. But you know," he faced her again, "this is not going to end well for Jackson tonight. I wanted to spare you that."

"You can't spare me that." Lisa said, indignant. "You don't have that right."

Mathis nodded slowly, understanding. He left her then, and headed toward a small knot of officers.

Lisa stepped away as several other policemen moved in to examine the scene, pointing at this or that; discussing the grisly tableau. She walked to the edge of the parking lot and stared down the westbound lane where Jackson had fled. Fog had already begun to form in the ditches along the highway. The rest area was an oasis of hazy light; beyond was the muggy blackness of the Everglades. Within minutes, Jackson would be captured. Or killed.

How far had he gotten? Would she hear gunshots from this distance? If Jackson had already been shot as she feared, he might not have been able to drive for long. The awful vision of Jackson slumping over the steering wheel came to her then; the car, no longer in his control, plunging off the highway and into some dark culvert, headlights smothered by swampy overgrowth. _Oh God, Jack… I'm sorry…_

Lisa lowered herself to the ground, cross-legged. The investigative activity behind her proceeded at the periphery of her notice. With the loyalty of a compass, she could only point herself toward the direction Jackson had gone and watch the mist thicken.

An abrupt cessation of sound made Lisa look over her shoulder to see an officer withdraw his gloved hand from the BMW's steering column. The car's engine had at last been silenced, and the new stillness brought a finality to the scene that pierced through her brittle husk of shock.

Lisa buried her face in her hands. She sat alone, in self-imposed exile from the police, and quietly sobbed out her dishonor. Jackson had deserted her.

She did not deserve his valor, and somehow he had known.

------------------------

Faintly, Lisa heard an eruption of activity on the police radios. She had wandered a distance away from the rest area, pacing through long grass silvered by moisture, and now she hurried back, following her own dark track. Something was happening.

Jogging up the slight rise toward the pavement, she caught sight of Mathis, who raised an arm, waving her toward him. There _was_ news, then. As she ran lightly over the grass, she steeled herself for his words.

The detective's face was unreadable as she presented herself before him. He drew her aside, giving them space from the other policemen. "They found his car, Lisa."

She did not breathe.

"Collier County came across an abandoned Mercedes on the side of the highway about ten miles from here. Windows shot up. Blood on the steering wheel." Mathis looked down the highway, as if visualizing what had been described to him. "But no sign of Jackson."

Lisa's mouth worked, but no words came. A thousand questions battered her, but there was no sense in asking them. Mathis could give her no answers - he had told her all there was to know. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Behind them, another officer commented on the development with cavalier sarcasm. "The dumb fuck ditched the _car_?"

Someone else laughed derisively. "Making a run for it in the Glades in the middle of the night - what an idiot. He'll be gator bait." More laughing; the hearty, male guffaws of callous indifference.

_Dumb fuck. Gator bait. _Lisa clenched her teeth until they felt they would crack. She had chosen to align herself with these people earlier that same day… a lifetime ago. _How could I have been so wrong? _She hated them all so virulently in that moment that she could hardly see; she spun on her heel and stalked off. Behind her, she heard Mathis rebuke the men for her benefit. It didn't matter. They were all of the same ilk.

Jackson was now on foot in the harsh landscape of the Everglades. The police would send every resource imaginable after him in the dark - men, dogs, airboats and helicopters. The ground was treacherous; dry land could turn into swamp unexpectedly.

Lisa looked skyward, feeling the mist dampen her upturned face. The moon, surrounded by a murky halo, was large enough to light Jackson's way in the dark.

_Why did he leave me?_

She closed her eyes and remembered the sound of Jackson's shallow panting as he had lain next to her after their lovemaking. He had been slow to catch his breath, a sad result of his recent recovery from being shot in the lung. Only two weeks out of the hospital, he was in no condition to be chased through the Everglades, even if he had emerged from tonight's shootout unscathed.

To distract herself from the distressful thoughts, Lisa walked closer to the men clustered around the BMW, hoping to overhear their preliminary findings.

"Ballistics will be here all night with this. What a mess," someone griped.

Lisa drifted closer, and noticing her interest, one of the officers beckoned to her. "Do you want to see?"

She let him lead her to within feet of Jackson's open door. "See there?" the man pointed to the glass scattered on the ground. "Glass that was projected outward - meaning the guy sitting in this car fired most of these shots through his own window. Guess he didn't have time to roll it down," he sniffed. "But…" he then indicated more glass on the floor mat and seat of the car, "you have this, so there were shots fired _into_ the car, too. When the real experts get here we'll know better."

Lisa absorbed his words. Leaning forward, she scoured Jackson's seat for spots of blood and saw none. Just as she straightened, the visor caught her attention; the edge of something slipped behind it… something Jackson had hidden there. "What's that?" she asked, hoping the officer would take an interest in her discovery.

The man reached to flip the visor down, and the small, square object fluttered free, landing on the seat. "Nothing. Just a movie ticket." He brushed it away, sweeping it down between the seats and out of Lisa's sight.

_He kept that._ Jackson might only have shoved it behind the visor unthinkingly after their matinee encounter, and before tonight, Lisa would have thought that most likely. Now she could allow herself to believe he had saved it as a memento. Her eyes burned.

----------------

Dawn lightened the eastern sky, the sun rising from the direction of Miami. Light breaking over her old life.

Lisa leaned against the van and accepted the Styrofoam cup of coffee Mathis wordlessly offered. A flatbed tow truck was backing itself noisily up to Jackson's car, the scene investigation completed. No longer possessing the untouchable mystique of new evidence, the BMW was now handled like any other derelict vehicle. Its door was slammed shut, and the metallic clank of chains being attached to its bumper echoed in the morning.

Jackson had not been found.

Lisa rubbed a fatigued hand over her eyes. Her hair, limp and damp against her cheeks from a night of heavy humidity, made her feel unclean. She wanted to shower and sleep, yet could not stand the thought of going back to town without knowing what had happened to Jackson. To leave here would be to abandon him.

The silver-haired dead man's name was Reece Loper. Hours before, the medical examiner had recognized him immediately. Kneeling over the corpse, he had exclaimed with surprise, "Holy shit, this guy was in my lab this morning! He ID'd his son's body." The son, Cade Loper, had been the man shot to death in front of Lisa's condo.

Mathis swallowed from his steaming cup, noting her reluctance to leave the scene, even as it was restored to normalcy. "Lisa, there's nothing more we can do here." A semi truck roared by, sending a gust of diesel wind over them; the highway had been reopened an hour before. "We're packing up in a few minutes. You've got to go back to town with us."

"Are they still searching?" Lisa asked numbly.

Mathis yawned, nodding. "Yeah. They might have more luck in the daytime."

Lisa did not know what to feel. If he had been shot, Jackson might have succumbed to injury in the night and died in the Everglades. His body would likely never be found.

Or he had somehow managed to elude police and escape. He might yet be struggling through the landscape… there was no way to know. The search area was too immense.

"Come on," Mathis coaxed. "Let's get back to town. Don't you want to find out what was in Jackson's laptop?"

"Okay," Lisa nodded, though she felt little interest. She now felt as though she were being dragged behind the juggernaut that was the investigation, exhausted and unable to detach herself. However, staying near Mathis would guarantee her swift notification if Jackson was found.

"Ma'am?"

Lisa turned to the voice: a lanky officer who extended a lumpy, wet object to her. "This belongs to you. Good thing the GPS was still in it, or we'd never have found it."

Her purse. Lisa accepted it with a whispered thanks, turning it over in her hands. She blinked back tears, overcome by the memory of Jackson heaving it out of the car in a frustrated attempt to focus her on her future. Now, along with her old life, it had been returned to her, unrecognizable.

_I don't want this. _Wrapping the purse's long strap around her hand, she gripped it fiercely, feeling the dampness squeeze out. And felt an insane urge to run to the edge of the parking lot, spin quickly around, and release the purse; hurl it as far as her body's momentum would send it.

Mathis squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. "Let's go, Lisa."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The airboat powered its way slowly through the narrow passage, motor blatting deafeningly. The old man operating it kept his squint-eyed gaze far ahead - last night, there had been some sort of hoopla over on the highway... miles to the north. Helicopters had circled the area for hours, searchlights beaming downward.

_Cops. _

Maybe another tourist had been stranded by his rental car, tried to walk for help, and gotten himself killed; falling into a ditch in the dark and drowning. Or snatched by a gator. The old man chuckled. Oh, it was always something with that damn highway. People who had no business in the Glades found themselves in the middle of the godforsaken swamp because a bunch of geniuses had decided to put a road through it.

Now the cops had gone, it seemed. There had not been a helicopter over the area for almost an hour. The old man's eye fell on the battered blue cooler in the bottom of his boat. It would not do to have police board his craft, stocked as the cooler was with Puerto Rican hash.

As he drifted along, he spotted an unusual object along the bank ahead. Narrowing his ancient eyes to slits, the old man stared at it hard.

Dark. A bag of garbage, maybe… No, bigger.

Features began to take shape as he neared it, and it all came together with an almost audible click in his mind. It was a man lying facedown in the grass, arms thrust outward along the ground at shoulder height, elbows bent sharply; as if he'd decided to just take a nap right there. _Sonnovabitch._

The old man slowed the boat. The victim had probably been executed where he lay; the Latin gangs of Miami were fond of the Glades as a dumping ground. But this poor fella looked as if he'd gone though hell and back first - his yuppie get-up of dark, expensive pants and jacket were soaked to mid-torso, black with dampness and coated with a green-brown slime. Maybe he'd been dragged through the swamp behind a boat before he'd been made to lie down here and accept a bullet in the back of the head, the old man speculated. He shook his head and whistled in pity.

But as far as he could see, there was no wound anywhere on the body. The dead man's face was turned away from him, his dark hair free of blood. The old man pursed his lips and cut off the airboat's engine before he would drift too far past, quickly secured it, and disembarked.

He approached the body, studying the man's back; the jacket was also unmarked by gunshot wounds or blood. Shot in the chest, then. Maybe even in the face. _JesusChristAlmighty. _It was a fresh kill, only since last night - no flies or ants yet. On the man's wrist, a ritzy-looking watch gleamed dully beneath its scummy coating of muck. Whatever had happened to him, this well-to-do carcass was probably the cause of all the police ruckus on the highway last night. Whenever a rich one went missing, the fuss was always that much bigger.

"Dust to dust, an' all that shit…" the old man said with respect, doffing his hat and briefly placing it over his heart. Then he leaned over, inspecting more closely. The guy's wallet might still be on him, and he looked like he would carry a wad of cash worth poking around for. Bending farther, he peered at the face of the dead man… probably a lady-killer in life. He reached to turn the body over. And froze.

The dead man slowly lifted his head, looking over his shoulder with bright blue eyes… eyes that were piercingly alive.


	28. Chapter 28

"How does it feel to have your life back?"

Lisa forced a smile. That was the question everyone asked her now, always with genuine warmth. Happy for her. And why not?

But this time it was Vicky who had asked, and Lisa could afford a bit more honesty. "Surreal," she said, her slender fingers toying with the small straw in her drink. "I've had a lot of requests for interviews. One or two offers for book deals, that sort of thing. I'm not sure that qualifies as a normal life," she laughed.

Vicky's mouth gaped in astonishment. "Oh, wow!" She reached across the table and gripped Lisa's arm excitedly, grinning broadly. "That's so amazing. Are you going to do any of it?"

"I don't think so. It's just not me." Lisa gazed across Carmelita's to the booth Jackson had occupied months ago; she could almost see him lounging there, drink in hand.

Sensitive to her change in mood, Vicky sobered. "I see stuff on the news about this all the time. Seems like every other day they arrest somebody new. When I saw they dropped all the charges against you, I jumped up and down, Lisa, I was so excited. I had to call you."

Lisa nodded. "Yeah. The laptop was what Mathis needed, apparently. They've got about six people in jail now for the Keefe assassination attempt."

"So you're off the hook. And safe."

"That's what they keep telling me. The guy who was killed at the rest area was named Reece Loper. He was the head of the organization, and things would have fallen apart after his death even without the laptop, since his son is dead, too." Lisa stirred her drink with a finger, watching the ice spin around the rim of the glass.

Vicky bit her lip in silence, as if trying to hold back the next question. "And… what about Jackson?"

Hearing his name caused an upswelling of heartache that clamped her in a vise grip. Lisa inhaled deeply. "They never found him. The dogs tracked him into the swamp, but of course they lost him there."

"Do the police know if Jackson got shot?"

"They say no. All the blood in the Mercedes came from Loper."

"So Jackson really did go into the Everglades," Vicky said, awestruck.

Lisa nodded, her eyes growing hot. _Oh God, don't lose it now. Not here… not in public. _Hurriedly she took a swallow of her drink, hoping its chill would loosen the dismaying tightness in her throat. "He's still officially listed as missing. And wanted, of course. But Mathis thinks he never made it out of the swamp."

"What do _you_ think?"

Lisa's eyes went vacant as her mind drifted back to the tragic night she had last been with Jackson. "I don't know what I think."

"If he's alive… are you afraid he'll come back for you?"

"No." Lisa said with quiet assurance. Lisa hoped Vicky would assume that she did think Jackson was dead, even if she wished it were not so. She was not afraid of Jackson returning; she yearned for it.

Vicky knew only that Lisa had left Miami with Jackson; she was unaware of the wire. Mathis had warned Lisa to tell no one; her one-night stint as informant needed to remain confidential for her own safety. It would never be made public that she had worn a body wire that night, lest Jackson discover her collaboration and seek reprisal.

If he were alive.

_If. _The word that Lisa's brain had run into the ground for weeks. If she hadn't visited Jack's house… If he had not made love to her with such unexpected gentleness that night, shattering her illusions of him… If she had never offered to wear the wire for Mathis. If Jackson had not saved her life. Each action a link in a chain of events that now shackled her to the torture of penitence. Softening her guilt over the wire was the merciful knowledge that Jackson never knew.

Concern showed in Vicky's dark eyes. "You miss him."

"Yeah," Lisa whispered. "I know… it sounds crazy."

"No, not really. You went through a lot with him, Lisa. And I met him, remember? I know how goddamned magnetic he was."

_Was… _As if Jackson were indeed dead, or someone out of the distant past. Lisa guessed that for Vicky, he was just that. Unable to endure any more talk of Jackson, she changed the subject. "Nick asked me to dinner."

"Nick…?"

"Mathis," Lisa said, wishing she felt enthusiasm to share the news.

Vicky's mouth gaped. "He did? Is that allowed?"

Lisa shrugged, forcing a vague smile. "Well, since I'm no longer being investigated, and the charges have been dropped, I guess so."

"I like him, Lisa. He's such a nice guy, and good looking, too. You _are _going to go out with him, right…?" Vicky pressed, leaning forward and peering into Lisa's face encouragingly.

For a moment, Lisa relived the odd moment when Mathis had invited her to dinner; how she had recoiled inside. It had felt disloyal; unfaithful to Jackson for even hearing Mathis' words.

"Lisa?" Vicky prodded scoldingly. "Don't tell me you turned him down."

Lisa shrugged, sheepish. "I told him I need more time." The truth was, she was not interested and might never be. Mathis was a decent, solid man, the sort she would have been attracted to before Jackson had come into and gone out of her life so dramatically. She thought about Mathis, whom she had a difficult time referring to as Nick. There was only one negative aspect about him in her eyes… but it was a deal-breaker.

_He's not Jackson._

_----------------------------------------------_

The automatic door slid open, and Lisa stepped over the rubber floor mat with misgivings over her personal mission.

Bottles of various colors faced her in rows. Vodka encased in clear or blue glass. Dark green to near-black bottles containing wine. Tequila. Vermouth. Rum. Lisa gnawed the inside of her cheek, feeling out of place as she walked slowly up the aisle. She rarely purchased alcohol from a liquor store. Usually what she wanted could be found on a grocery store shelf - a standard six-pack of beer that would take her days to finish, or a bottle of Moet for New Year's. She had always deemed liquor stores the domain of more serious drinkers, but this was the only place to find what she sought.

Reaching the aisle's end, she started up the next. Jack Daniels…. _No. _She moved farther along. _There it is - Johnnie Walker_. The bottle was just as she remembered it in Jackson's hand. Lisa ran a fingertip across the blue label that diagonally adorned the thick glass. A hot flush washed over her cheeks at the memories it summoned of that incredible night - Jackson tucking his shirt back into his pants with one hand, the bottle of scotch in the other, high color in his cheeks. So alive and vigorous.

Her eyes descended to the price tag, and she raised her eyebrows. _Holy crap. _It was expensive. Of course - Jackson appreciated the finer things, and he'd had the means to acquire them.

"Can I help you?" The clerk had snuck up on her.

"Oh. Well, yes," Lisa said, dropping her hand from the bottle as if caught in an inappropriate act. "Do you have smaller bottles of this?"

"Yeah, that Blue Label is pricey, isn't it? Up front," he beckoned, striding to his place behind the counter. There, he reached to the rack behind, his hand hovering back and forth, fingers wiggling, as he searched. "Here we go." Selecting a tiny sample bottle, he handed it to her. "Will this do the trick?"

It was a miniature replica of the larger bottle, and it was perfect. She would need very little. "Yes, thank you."

--------------------------

She was not sure she was ready... ready for how it might make her feel.

Gripping the metal cap, Lisa unscrewed it from the bottle and set it aside. She lifted the bottle to her nose and smelled the potent fluid within. Strong, very strong. _How did he ever drink this? _Lisa laid her head back on a throw pillow, feeling private shame. This was her only pathetic means to re-experience Jackson again.

She tipped the bottle, fingertip against its mouth, as if preparing to dab expensive perfume. The liquor wet the pad of her finger. Closing her eyes, she shut out her environment and let her mind run back in time and space. To the moment her heart had first whispered to her and she had not listened…

_His powerful hands gently sliding through her hair, breath warming her ear. "We'll make it, Leese." His soft mouth on hers… _

Lisa closed her lips around her finger, letting it rest on her tongue, savoring the scotch. Tasting the burn of Jackson's kiss… tasting _him _again.

Haunted by the sweet, torturesome memory, a painful ache bloomed in her chest like a poison flower. Tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes and streaked twin paths toward her ears. And for the first time since Jackson had disappeared, anger emerged with the pain. In their last moments together on the highway, Jackson had unveiled bravery so stunning it took her breath away. To then be abandoned by him was an injustice; the unanswered questions too great to forgive.

"You _bastard_," she whispered, burying her face in the crook of her arm, the bottle still clutched in her hand. Jackson might well be dead. But there was no excuse that would satisfy her for his desertion at the rest area that night. Nothing could soothe the months of wondering agony she had suffered since he'd gone.

_To hell with this. _Lisa sat up abruptly; the tears changed trajectory on her face and rolled down toward her chin. She capped the bottle of scotch. Marching into the kitchen with it, she threw it in the garbage with vengeful force. _Nope, not good enough. _

Rescuing the bottle from the waste can, Lisa strode resolutely out the front door and through the parking lot to the communal dumpster. Lifting the lid, she pitched the tiny bottle of costly liquor into the blackness, hearing it land on the empty bottom with an echoing clang.

Crossing the parking lot again, she muttered a stream of curses at Jackson. "How's _that_ for breaking with my past, Jack?"

Back inside, she turned on the television and flopped onto the couch, determined to think of anything but Jackson. But just as the screen came into focus, she sat up again and grabbed for the remote, turning the volume higher to hear the breaking news story.

"… _Charles Keefe, Director of Homeland Security, was found dead earlier this evening in a restroom of the Killington Grand Resort Hotel in Vermont, where he was attending a weekend conference. Officials have not released the details of Keefe's death, but did reveal that he was present at a dinner in the Ovations restaurant shortly before being discovered, unresponsive, in the men's restroom. Charles Keefe was the target of the highly publicized Lux Atlantic assassination attempt in August, but officials so far are refusing to confirm Keefe's death tonight as a homicide. We will bring you more details as they become available to us…"_

Lisa pressed both hands to her mouth. _He did it. _Jackson had finished the job. On the heels of her horror at Keefe's death came the electric, sick thrill of knowing Jackson was alive. _No, I don't know that, _Lisa told herself. _Whoever wanted Keefe dead may have hired someone else… _And yet, she knew it had been Jackson. He had pulled it off at last.

Lisa stood and began to pace the floor. "Oh, my God…" she whispered. She looked at the telephone. Any minute now, her father would call, worried for her after seeing the story on the news; he would beg her to come stay with him.

Then, the stab in the heart - Jackson had moved on without her. For months she had assumed him dead. He had never returned for her, and death had been the only justification Lisa would have accepted for his complete disappearance. Not once had Jackson contacted her or found a way to let her know he had survived; he had left her to suffer, unknowing. Disgusted at her selfish focus on her emotions and trembling in wounded fury, Lisa clutched her head in her hands. _Now I know._

He had forgotten her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jackson lowered his darkly tinted window a couple of inches to permit the invigorating, brisk air to enter, and inhaled deeply. Still sea-scented, even in the cool of winter. The smell of the Atlantic jolted him, ushering in a flood of memories. _Miami. _The place made him almost sentimental. And after the bitter cold of snowbound Vermont, this was paradise again.

To get back on his feet professionally and redeem his reputation with his remaining associates had taken months. With the sudden death of Reece Loper, a high-ranking position of power had been left wide open. By achieving Keefe's demise while the fractured organization rushed to restructure, Jackson had usurped the rank with little contest, though there were low-level grumbles. Advancement for Jackson was something that, ironically, would not have happened if the Keefe job had gone the way it was originally intended. Everything had been resolved.

Except for one loose end. One he had to handle personally.

Moving onto familiar streets, his excitement grew. Jackson had waited months for this night, evaluating risk against reward… waiting for everything to be just right. Returning to Miami, even for only a few hours, was an extreme risk. But the potential reward far surpassed the danger.

Lisa's street. Jackson tightened his grip on the steering wheel, savoring the way exhilaration and anxiety joined in a rush within him. Sure, he could have called Lisa ahead of his arrival… but why deny himself the pleasure of her surprise? A slow smile illuminated his face in the shadows. He glanced at his watch. It was too soon. Too early in the evening to do what he must. But it _would_ be done tonight - he had promised himself that.

Jackson's new BMW slunk into place in his old surveillance spot, tires settling into the very same divots in the ground created by his previous BMW; and by the Lexus before that. It was like slipping into a favorite pair of well-worn shoes, and Jackson sighed in anticipatory satisfaction.

_Yes. _There was Lisa's Camry in front of her condo. Same car, same place of residence, as things had always been; she had changed nothing. Lisa had returned home after the incident on the highway and lapsed back into her old ways, her old life… Jackson had expected that.

What he had not expected was to find that, on the night they had fled Miami together, she had been wearing a body wire for the police.

Names of confidential informants were not easily uncovered; but Jackson had the assets and connections that had made confirmation possible. Once he had seen the copies of the police reports, it had all come together for him: Lisa's extreme fear as she had ridden with him that night… the police helicopters arriving on the scene far too quickly… the fact that news reports never once mentioned a woman's presence at the murder on Alligator Alley. Even his own instinct had tipped him off that night as he had waited for Lisa beneath the overpass, but he had ignored it.

Jackson stared at Lisa's condominium, thoughtfully tracing his lips with a fingertip; reflecting on that fateful night. Lisa had been rigid with terror, caught in the machine of law enforcement; even as he had kissed her. Her eyes had proclaimed a depth of loyalty for him that was staggering, eyes that screamed _I'd die for you…_ all while she concealed a wire. A dry laugh issued from his throat. Lisa - she was good.

Tonight would be cathartic. He had one question for her, and there was only one right answer.

A car approached her condo, swinging into the space next to hers. Jackson sat up straighter, though he knew this would turn out to be a nonentity - Lisa never had visitors. He massaged his knuckles distractedly; the scars interlacing both hands had nearly faded, faint reminders of the hellish sawgrass of the Everglades.

A man emerged from the car, and breath escaped Jackson's lungs in a single affronted cough, as if he had been punched in the solar plexus.

_Mathis. _

Only Jackson's eyes moved, his body stiff with astonishment as he tracked the detective's progress toward Lisa's door with laserlike intensity.

The door opened. Lisa, silhouetted against the light inside, greeted Mathis. Not with a hug, Jackson noted, but a friendly head bob, her wavy hair bouncing perkily. He strained to see her face, and his hand clutched the shifter ineffectually, frustrated that he could not move closer. What was visible to him was tantalizing resplendence - Lisa wore a black cocktail dress that stopped at the knee, showing off her lissome form and a cruel expanse of knockout legs.

_This is a date. A fucking _date. "You have _got _to be kidding me," Jackson pleaded, his face contorting in disgust.

Lisa and Mathis headed toward his car, which, Jackson now made a point of noticing, was a Pontiac. Lisa's high black heels strutted directly over the spot where Cade Loper had died, and Jackson felt a hard twist in his gut; not competitive jealousy wracking him but sheer disbelief.

This was incomprehensible: Lisa behaving as though everything he had done for her had never occurred. His painstaking vigilance, personal risk and sacrifice - all swept under the rug; nothing more than a bad experience for her to suppress and forget.

Jackson swiped a scarred hand across his nose and mouth in agitated disdain as he watched Mathis open Lisa's door for her. Lisa's skirt rode up as she eased into the car, exposing a bit more of an elegant limb before Mathis shut the door, cutting off Jackson's view of her. _How long has this been going on? _He shook his head bitterly, wanting to look away but unable to. The repulsive pairing was as riveting as a ghastly car crash.

Mathis' contemptible Pontiac reversed out of the space. Still aghast at the development, Jackson watched blankly for several moments before his brain engaged. He quickly followed suit, pulling out onto the main road and locating Mathis' taillights not far ahead. The pleasurable excitement he had felt for his night's plan had vanished and his stomach knotted in insult.

_Leese. _She never failed to defy his expectations, and always she had pushed him into unreasonable actions. For Jackson to follow a detective around the city of Miami was unparalleled recklessness, and he knew it.

But when it came to Lisa, he had never been able to stop himself.


	29. Chapter 29

Jackson knew he was too close. Breathing down Mathis' neck - the Pontiac only two car lengths ahead of him and the downtown Friday night traffic at a dead stop. His incredulousness at the situation was just beginning to tick over into the red zone of anger, and he clouted the car stereo into silence. It was hard to think.

_Hold it together._ _You'll figure out a way to deal with this. _The attempt to calm himself was ineffective and quickly forgotten as he tried to see through the car in front of him and into Mathis' car. The fact that he was so near to Lisa but could not see her was bothersome, and he strained forward in his seat, as if this would bring him closer to her.

The traffic began to stutter forward. Mathis made a sudden left turn into a parking garage that Jackson had not even noticed. "Goddamn it," he growled, seeing that he could not directly follow Mathis, who had stopped the car to retrieve his ticket from the automatic meter. Jackson sighed in frustration; the only thing to do was to go around the block again and enter the garage on the next pass.

He did so, on the way observing the area. Jaywalkers crossed in front of his car as they headed toward the hub of activity. _Sunrise Harbor Promenade_, proclaimed a huge, arcing sign. The place was a posh open-air plaza, replete with restaurants, bars, high-line shops and some sort of museum or art gallery as the main draw. _Whose idea was it to come here_? Jackson wondered. Was Mathis trying to demonstrate a culturally impressive side, or was Lisa longing for an evening of artistic stimuli? Either way, it was sickening.

Coming back around to the front of the parking garage, Jackson swung the BMW into the entrance. He snatched impatiently at his ticket, tearing it out of the meter almost before it had finished ejecting itself, and waited an interminable two seconds for the gate to raise. He stomped the gas, and the tires gave a sharp, shrill bark like a small dog that had been kicked in the ribs.

Jackson accelerated, climbing one level, then another, eying each parked car and watching for Lisa and Mathis on foot. The first two floors were filled, but on the third, Jackson began to see open spaces, and as he turned onto the fourth, he spotted the detective's dark blue Pontiac. Mathis and Lisa were just emerging from it.

Jackson bypassed the floor quickly and proceeded straight down the exit ramp, swearing, his heart pounding. They had almost seen him. He descended two levels, shaking his head with an ironic chuckle. _Shit… that was close. _

Once he was sure he had given the couple enough time to reach the elevator, Jackson started back up. He drove faster, overhead lights flashing past rapidly, and marked the detective's Pontiac as he passed it. Up two more floors, increasingly vacant of cars until, almost dizzy from his swift circling of the garage levels, Jackson at last reached the roof.

The top of the garage was utterly devoid of vehicles, and Jackson let the BMW meander over the open asphalt, the wheel loose in his hands. He saw that the elevator did not reach to this level - instead there was a single stairwell on the same side. Jackson parked next to the doorway to the stairs and got out of the car.

Buffeted by a chilly wind, Jackson hurried to the wall at the building's edge and peered over, holding his breath in suspense - it had taken him too long to park; surely he would not see them.

There they were, six stories below: Mathis escorting Lisa along the attractively paved and landscaped passage that led between the garage and the Promenade. Even from his vantage point far above them, Jackson could see that they were talking, their faces turned toward one another. He leaned forward on the wall and to one side, almost losing sight of Lisa behind the bushy top of a tall palm tree.

Moments later, Lisa crossed the street with the detective and disappeared into the crowd. Exasperated, Jackson gripped the cement wall hard, his arms rigid and aching with tension. For now, there was no more he could do. He could not risk being seen in public and possibly identified; and that meant no mingling with the crowd, no following Lisa to whatever shop or restaurant she and Mathis had chosen.

Restless, Jackson prowled back and forth along the wall, hoping to catch another glimpse of Lisa. As he paced, eyes fixed on the colorful glow and bustle of the Promenade, the injustice of the situation became increasingly galling. Lisa was alive because, unbeknownst to her, she had been under his protection for months. She lived, breathed and dated detectives only at his whim.

But now, upon his long-awaited return to Miami, Jackson was relegated to spectator status in her life. The crowd continued to mill around the brightly lit plaza across the street; a world where Lisa could still enjoy the everyday pleasures her freedom offered; while he roamed the dark roof of the parking garage like an outcast, the wind cutting through his jacket and carrying snatches of music to him from the festivities below. Jackson stopped pacing and stood still, hands jammed down into his pockets, mouth open slightly as he thought.

It was colossally idiotic to even consider going down there and mixing with hundreds of people… since there was always the less palatable option of waiting for the date to run its course; and for Mathis to take Lisa home. After the detective dropped Lisa off at her condo, Jackson would be free to deal with her. _Assuming Mathis leaves at all… _Jackson had no way of knowing how new their personal relationship was; no idea if Mathis might stay at Lisa's overnight. His stomach gave a nasty lurch at the thought.

Suddenly, waiting for the pair to return home seemed too great a gamble. If they spent the night together, Jackson could not confront Lisa tonight; he would have to stay in Miami at least another day. And he was adamantly unwilling to do so; this night had been planned for too long to delay it any more. Mathis was not about to fuck it all up for him. _No. He isn't taking her home… I'll see to it. _

Jackson started toward the stairs.

-----------------------------------------

Lisa recrossed her legs and poked at the salad, chasing a crouton around the plate with her fork. She wasn't hungry, but forced the food down out of a sense of decorum. Mathis was a perfect dinner date, courteous and kind. But the feeling of fraud within her grew by the minute. _Why did I agree to this? _she thought hopelessly.

Mathis had, just after picking her up, set one boundary for the evening - that they not talk about his job. Lisa understood it as his formal attempt to move their relationship from professional to personal, but rather than pleasing her, it had been cause for chagrin. Mathis was, above all else to Lisa, an indirect link to Jackson - someone who would have first word of his whereabouts - and she did not want the detective to purposely close that pipeline. If Mathis would no longer discuss Jackson with her, what good was he?

Lisa glanced around the restaurant, Mathis' stream of conversation flowing around her without resistance. Up to this point in the evening, she'd had trouble meeting his gaze; the honest fondness in his dark eyes was too guilt-inducing. _This was a big mistake. _She had always felt a faint vibe of attraction from Mathis, even through the investigation, but now she had stupidly put herself in the position of having to deal with it directly… and eventually let him down.

Knowing she must make a better effort at being good company - at least for this one night - she bit the bullet and faced him. _He's reasonably handsome_, she thought in an academically detached way that did not seem at all as if it had come from her own brain. With analytical precision, she studied his features, willing some spark of attraction for him to ignite.

Mathis' neatly slicked back dark hair was the antithesis of Jackson's scruffy mane. His facial structure was rounder and fuller than Jackson's angular visage, and his voice had none of the smooth depth that Jackson's possessed. But the most striking difference was in the two men's eyes, and in this they could not have been farther apart. No one had eyes like Jackson's.

Feeling nothing, Lisa gave up, her attention drifting out the window, and she blankly stared at the hordes of people outside. She could not make herself desire Nick Mathis; there was no possibility of his competing with the ghost of Jackson. A deep feeling of defeat engulfed her. She had ventured on this date to break the depressing cycle of missing Jackson; and to move forward in the new year without being haunted by his abandonment. But the date only served to viciously underscore the aching fact that her intense experiences with Jackson would never be matched by anyone else… she was locked in an eternal search for him.

The meal finished, they lingered at the table and Mathis ordered coffee. Reaching across the table, he gently took her hand in his; dark eyes alight with a warmth that Lisa found discomfiting. It took all of her willpower not to jerk her hand away. Innocent of her internal struggle, he clearly thought the date was playing out fabulously.

_Let him enjoy this. Don't spoil it for him. _That would come at another time - this was their first and last date.

-------------------------

Jackson loitered in the long corridor by the Promenade restrooms and checked his watch. The damn dinner had to be almost over by now. Was there more to come afterwards? Shopping, perhaps? He ran his tongue over his front teeth, his lips twisting in grim impatience.

Lurking in the hallway by the bathrooms was a safe course of action, considering his limitations. The passage was a shortcut through the plaza as well, so people did not linger there long, and those who saw him standing around would merely assume he was waiting on a companion who was using the facilities. But being out in public was a nerve-jangling venture, and he did not want to prolong his exposure.

Moving closer to the wall to let a group of youths pass, Jackson lowered his head and feigned another glance at his watch, maintaining a low profile. One of the young men shrieked with laughter at his buddy's joke, and the attention-drawing noise echoed throughout the passageway. _Cheer the fuck up, asshole… _Jackson scowled.

After the youths had passed along, buzzing amongst themselves in Spanish, Jackson peered over their heads to the more brightly lit area outside the corridor. To Azul - Lisa's restaurant. In a stroke of pure luck, she had been seated by a window, so he was able to periodically establish whether her dinner was still underway, though it was hard to see most times. Jackson squinted hard, trying to see past the crowd and through the glass.

Their table was vacant; a busboy in white bent over it, clearing the dishes. Jackson's pulse raced. The dinner had ended at last. With caution he came forward into the open plaza, searching for the pair. In seconds, he had located Lisa's auburn hair, not thirty feet away.

Jackson froze in his tracks, surprised by the affecting jolt upon seeing her so close again… it seemed forever since he had been so near to Lisa. It was not a sense of danger that stopped him cold; it was the sharp and devastating _awareness _of her.

Every sense went hyper-alert: the Latin décor around him screamed vibrant colors into his retinas, snatches of strangers' insipid conversations burned themselves into his brain, the smell of spilt beer and wafting cigarette smoke filled his nostrils… _Yes. _The rending intensity he had hungered for ever since leaving her on the highway that night… Jackson had never forgotten it.

He had never forgotten _her._

_----------------------------------------_

In the crisp outside air, Lisa felt better. The situation was less claustrophobic outdoors, but this did not decrease her sense of failure over the date. She turned to Mathis with a small smile. "Thank you for dinner, Math… Nick," she said, flushing at her slip-up. "It was really nice of you."

Mathis pretended not to notice her blunder. "What next? Feel like checking out the gallery?" He nodded toward the centerpiece of the plaza.

Lisa considered, fingering her small satin handbag. She wanted to go home. But she enjoyed the gallery and had not been there in several years; there might be exhibits she had never seen. Emotional fatigue battled with her personal interest for a few moments before the latter won. "Okay," she said with an acquiescing smile.

A warbling beep emanated from Mathis' belt region. "Hold on, I better get this. I'm sorry, Lisa," the detective apologized, reaching for his cell.

"That's all right," Lisa held up a tolerant hand and stepped away. With greater distance between her and Mathis, she discovered that she felt less stifled, as if she could take in a full breath. Reveling in the sensation, she unobtrusively floated a few more steps away, feeling her personal space expanding; the pressure lifting.

Glancing back at Mathis, she saw that he was engrossed in listening to his caller. _Must be his work… _Lisa thought. She caught his eye and gestured toward the window of a shop that sold modern art. _I'll be over here, _she mouthed. Mathis nodded and waved her on.

Free for a few liberating minutes, Lisa walked toward the shop, her new shoes rubbing her heels painfully. She could not wait to get home and tear them off. As she neared the shop, her eye was caught by a sign indicating the nearby restrooms. Maybe she should dash in there while Mathis was occupied.

Walking quickly, she entered the corridor. She had only just spied the ladies' restroom door when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark form push away from the wall and toward her. A hand seized her upper arm, and Lisa gasped, icy terror inundating her.

_Jackson._

He fell into step with her without missing a beat, his grip impelling her faster forward. "Let's go, Lisa." He did not look at her.

"_Jack_…!" she gasped. Reflexively, Lisa struggled to pull away, but he gave a hard, controlling yank that almost toppled her off her high heels.

"Walk with me. Normally. Like you just had dinner with _me_," Jackson instructed, his voice taut with sarcasm.


	30. Chapter 30

Lisa stole a glance at Jackson as he hustled her along the dark passageway, his fingers biting into the flesh of her upper arm. His brows were furrowed, and the prominent muscle in his jaw stood out in a familiar signal of angry tension; seeing its sharp outline sparked dread in her.

The sudden overdose of adrenaline surging to her legs made her stumble, her shaky limbs unable to keep pace with his stiff march. Jackson slowed only long enough for her to regain her stride, then hurried them onward. They exited the corridor and Jackson steered her toward the street.

Pausing on the sidewalk amongst other pedestrians, they were forced to wait for cars to pass. Breathlessly robbed of speech, Lisa turned to Jackson. He was here, his hand hot and tight on her arm. Saying nothing, Jackson kept his stoical face averted from her as he watched the traffic. For months, she had imagined a thousand ways she would react if Jackson came back for her, and they ran the gamut from embracing him in passion to slapping him silly. But now, thunderstruck at his ambush and bold abduction of her from under Mathis' nose, she could do no more than stand dumbly next to him.

His iron grip was cutting off the circulation in her arm, and she found her voice. "Quit squeezing my arm, Jack. You look like you're kidnapping me."

At last Jackson's eyes flicked to her, just long enough for her to catch the unsettling glint of menace in them before he turned his attention back to the street. Lisa began to doubt the wisdom of letting him lead her wherever he pleased. She could feel the hard outline of his gun through his jacket - it caressed the side of her forearm like a whispered threat. He _wanted _her to feel it.

_He knows about the wire. Somehow, he knows. _Lisa's mouth went dry, and she peered at him again, desperate for clues to her fate.

"Stop looking at me so much, Leese," Jackson said quietly, his focus on the passing cars. "Just relax."

A gap in the traffic was coming; in seconds they would step off the curb together. The last few cars were slowly rolling past, almost close enough to touch, warm exhaust wafting over her bare legs. If Jackson planned to kill her, she should make it difficult for him. Lisa's body tensed, ready to pull, kick, scream, whatever it took to get away from him or draw attention. Surely Jackson would not shoot her on this street corner in front of dozens of witnesses.

Jackson's hand loosened on her arm - his steely grip slackening, then slipping away as he released her. She felt the heat from his hand dissipate in the cool air.

It was to be her decision.

The street was clear. Jackson started across without a word, never looking back to see if she followed.

Lisa hesitated only a heartbeat before plunging off the curb after him.

--------------------------------------

"After you, Leese. All the way to the top," Jackson said as they entered the bottom of the stairwell. Lisa started up the stairs at a quick pace.

He followed, increasingly distracted by her high-stepping legs as she hurried ahead of him - the last time he'd seen them exposed, they had been wrapped around his waist. A biting wind gusted through the open stairwell, flipping the edges of her satiny dress tauntingly. Lisa's faint, musky perfume lured him on, up level after level of cold, windy stairs, heightening the heady rush he felt from his impulsive capture of her.

Of her own volition, she was with him. On the street corner, Jackson had taken a chance. By physically letting go of Lisa, he had gambled his safety, his very life, that she would not betray him by running back to Mathis.

She had not done so.

Lisa ran ahead of Jackson, his disconcertingly swift tread behind her like that of a pursuer. His unknown agenda and the very rashness of his behavior were disturbing. Whether he had returned to claim her or to kill her, Jackson had exercised only minimal self-restraint by seizing her in such a dangerously public way. Yet, as she ran up the final flight of stairs, her anxiety was overtaken by a flash of relief at escaping the date with Mathis and, paradoxically, twisting resentment that Jackson once more expected her to drop everything at his demand. It was typical of him.

By the time they reached the roof and emerged from the stairwell, Jackson was half-winded from their jog up six flights of stairs, and had warmed up so that he no longer felt the night's chill.

Lisa halted by the BMW, startled at the sight - it was as if the shot-up vehicle at the rest area had been resurrected; she could not believe he would choose the exact same car to drive again.

She turned around to him, and the breath caught in Jackson's throat.

Lisa's hair flew wildly around her face and shoulders, the wind demolishing the playful curls she had created for the date. Her luxurious lips were painted a lush, blood red, and Jackson was instantly consumed by the urge to kiss them, lick them… bite them. Her eyes were dilated in fear and, incredibly, anger. Panting from the climb, Jackson absorbed the masterpiece before him in long-denied appreciation.

Equally out of breath, Lisa backed from him warily, moving like a cornered wild creature, until she bumped against the door of his car.

Slowly, Jackson approached her. She was beyond beautiful, but she had one fatal flaw.

She lied.

The little handbag slipped from Lisa's fingers and fell to the ground beside the BMW's tire. Jackson was even more striking than when she had last seen him. And different in some subtle way she could not place. She drank in every detail: the slightly longer hair tumbling darkly over his brow, his shadowed gleaming eyes, his stunning face - more handsomely austere than ever.

She spread flattened palms on the glossy surface of the car's door and raised her chin bravely as Jackson neared her. "Okay," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm here. Now what do you want?"

Jackson advanced closer, within arm's length, the blood pounding throughout his body. He had rehearsed this in his mind so many times. But now that the moment was at hand, the words had fallen into a confused chaos he could not structure - driven from his consciousness by her furious eyes and red, red lips. _If she lies to me again... I'll shit-ass lose it. _This was emotional endgame.

He forced himself into speech, and the words rasped out on each quick breath, sounding nothing like he had imagined they would. "On the highway that night… Leese…" A deep inhalation and he bluntly spat the question. "Were you wearing a wire?"

Lisa froze. Her chest heaved, but she never took her eyes from his.

The moment drew out, each passing second increasing the weight of her guilty secret. Jackson's azure eyes seethed with an electric symbiosis of rage and pain that was her creation. Even if he was here for retribution, she could no longer carry the burden of her betrayal. She would let go… and trust him.

"Yes," she breathed. Never had a single word been laden with such relief.

It was out.

Jackson's face underwent a startling, prismatic series of expressions: his upper lip curled in almost nauseated aversion, every muscle tightened with fury, then softened into disillusionment. He took a step back and turned partially away from her, rubbing a hand over his face and jaw slowly, eyes on the remote skyline.

Lisa noticed the half-faded scars crisscrossing Jackson's hand as it passed over his face, and somehow knew they were marks from his escape into the hazardous Everglades… the night he had saved her life. A rending sympathy for him welled up, and she wanted to go to him; kiss the old wounds on his hands. But she found could not move toward him any more than she could defy gravity.

Tilting his head back, Jackson stared up at the clear night sky. He had known about the wire for weeks, but reading it on a piece of paper was miles away from hearing Lisa confirm it; from seeing it reflected in her eyes. It was gut-wrenching, raw… but it was more than that.

It was a start.

Lisa had told him the truth. Her honesty finally surpassed her fear; at the implications, Jackson felt a prickle of hope that overrode his undercurrent of anger. Her terrible mistake and a near disaster had been needed to make things clear for her, but she had gotten there at last. That was what mattered.

He came to her, exhilarated at the sight of her standing firm at his approach, no longer shrinking away against the car. The wind whipped her hair into her face, and he brushed it aside with one hand, giving himself a warm space by her neck in which to take refuge.

"I knew you could, Leese… I knew you could…" he breathed into her ear. There was no need to explain his words; she would know their meaning. Jackson lingered in the dark warmth of her hair, savoring the breakthrough, his hand trailing down the silkiness of her arm.

Jackson's breath warmed Lisa's neck, focusing the sensation there to a waiting, yearning peak and sending an erotic charge through her. She did not move, mystified by Jackson's positive reaction to her confession. She had expected him to shout, to strike her… or worse. Instead, he had whispered smooth words of praise to her, nuzzling into her hair as if her honesty had been the ultimate turn-on. And she supposed that, for him, it was.

"Why, Lisa?" Jackson spoke into her shoulder, his hair brushing her cheek, and she was glad he could not see her face. Her shame. He would want to know the reasons for her disloyalty, but her motivations that day were lost to her now.

"I don't even remember now… it seemed like the right thing. I always do the right thing, Jack…" Her eyes brimmed with hot tears.

Jackson propped himself against the car with a hand, still leaning into her, and gazed through the veil of her hair to the city lights beyond. Lost in thought, he watched a traffic light cycle from red to green, and back to red before he spoke again. "What do you think now? Was it the right thing to do?"

"No," she whispered, remembering the sound of his BMW running outside the door of the restroom that night… she would never forget it. "No, it wasn't."

Jackson closed his eyes. A strangely peaceful sense of fulfillment sang through him, so different from the fierce victory he'd felt with her as they had fled that terrible night. It was real this time: Lisa was his.

Lisa ached to put her arms around him, but anger born of her long-standing suffering kept her from doing so. Jackson had gotten what he wanted from her, and in his mind, they were square. But it was not so.

He owed her something too.

Jackson pulled away from her and glanced about the rooftop. By now Mathis would be searching for Lisa, and they would have to exit the garage unseen. He turned, preparing to unlock the car. "Come on. We need to get going."

Jackson assumed she was going with him, no questions asked. Lisa's antagonism inflamed further.

"No," she said. "Wait a minute."

Jackson paused, his keys halfway drawn from his pocket.

Lisa held on to her anger. Only moments ago, she had felt sympathy for Jackson. But now, forgiven by him, her own concerns became paramount. All the months of wondering whether he was alive or dead… the pain of thinking he had forgotten her… his inexplicable desertion of her at the rest area. _Her_ pain - she had to make him aware of it. Jackson was pleased that the doorway of honesty had opened between them, but it did not exist for her alone to pass through.

"I have a few goddamn questions of my own," she demanded.

Jackson slid the hand with the keys back into his pocket, and his eyes locked with hers warningly. Every minute they remained on the rooftop, their narrow window of escape closed further, and Jackson felt an annoyed alarm that she did not realize this. "Oh, yeah? And when did you come up with this mental checklist for me? During dinner? Maybe Mathis gave you some pointers on interrogating a subject. I can't wait to see you in action," Jackson spewed cynically.

"You have a lot of nerve judging me for that. Where the hell were _you_? What was I supposed to think all this time?" Lisa's voice rose, her fists balling tightly in provocation.

Fighting his anger, Jackson half-turned away, his words grinding through clenched teeth. "You have no idea what I went through after I left, Leese. No idea. I'm lucky I'm standing here at all."

Lisa waited for more, but there was none; Jackson merely shot her an admonitory eye, daring her to pressure him further.

"Are you saying it's none of my business?" she asked, incredulous.

Jackson was distressed at her probing, especially in light of their current circumstances. They needed to leave this garage as soon as possible, and Lisa had chosen this precise moment to thrash out their lack of communication. It was all the more upsetting because the things about himself he least wanted to reveal to her were the very things she wanted to know about. Lisa could not comprehend his ingrained need to hold something back… and that there were some things you didn't tell anyone.

"That's what I'm saying." Jackson held her gaze unblinkingly. "And we don't have time for this right now."

His unfairness was too much.

She exploded. Flinging herself at Jackson, Lisa pummeled him with her fists, swinging wildly. Wanting to beat the selfishness out of him, she released her frustration with each hammering punch. Swearing, Jackson tried to catch her arms, and she cracked a knuckle on the metal of his watch. Aware that she had gone too far, she tried to pull herself back from her furious brink, but not before her fist connected solidly with the plane of his cheek.

In horror, she stopped.

Jackson easily snatched both of her wrists. He backed her against the car with abrupt, authoritative force, tasting blood in his mouth. _Fuck… did she knock a tooth out? _He poked his tongue around until he found the damage - only a gouge inside his cheek. He turned sharply and spat, then faced Lisa again, her wrists like live wires in his hands.

She was completely unraveled. Breathing very fast - almost hyperventilating - her ruby lips parted. "I thought you were dead…" she panted, and Jackson felt her begin to go limp in his grasp. "I thought you _died _that night…"

Shocked by the agony in her voice as she relived the months-old trauma, Jackson was uncomfortably transfixed. He had never assumed that his absence would have been so painful for her.

Lisa weakened further, becoming heavier, and Jackson quickly pressed his body to hers, pinning her to the side of the BMW to prevent her from sliding to the ground. _Maybe I should let her pass out, _Jackson considered. _I could just put her in the car and get out of here. _But no, that would be a hollow victory. Her presence with him meant nothing if it was not intentional; it was worth waiting for. He pushed his chest against hers and spoke across the car's roof, almost grateful for a respite from her overwrought eyes.

"Don't faint on me, Leese," he ordered, hoping he could piss her off enough to stay conscious.

In amazement he felt her ribs sink beneath his as she expelled a spontaneous, huffing laugh, realizing the absurdity of their situation.

The quicksilvery emotion melded into him and Jackson released an identical laugh, faint vapor from his breath pluming over the car. And suddenly, he had to see it. _Her smile. _When was the last time he had? On that flight, eons ago?

Jackson leaned away slightly to look into her face, and saw her uninhibited smile, more dazzling than ever. So pure. Its luminous warmth released the constraining ties of detachment within him, and he felt an easy grin spread over his face.

Lightheaded, Lisa beheld Jackson's smile - genuine, wide, touching his eyes… the disarming smile from the airport bar, when Jackson had effortlessly drawn her out of herself. She had forgotten its power.

Neither of them breathed.

The shared delight burned too bright to last, and self-awareness soon invaded, fading their smiles. But in the afterglow, a different heat ignited slowly where their bodies touched.

Lisa had regained her strength, but Jackson remained as he was, pressed tightly to her. Eyes fixed on her, he let go of her wrists. "I'm not dead, Leese. I'm right here," he murmured, accentuating his words with the insistent pressure of his body.

She seemed to flatten against him, and with a thrill he realized she was widening the stance of her legs, allowing his hips to push into hers more fully. "I know…" she whispered. Her hands slipped beneath his jacket and around his lean body. "But it was such a long time… and I didn't know… all that time…"

Along the outside of his leg, her thigh slowly ascended. Jackson seized it eagerly, his hand sliding along its firm softness beneath her short dress until his fingers reached her hip. With his other hand, Jackson grasped the back of her neck firmly, making sure he had her attention.

"So let me get this straight," he said huskily, sending another wave of tantalizing pressure from his hips to hers, "You're angry with me because I didn't come back for you _fast enough_?"

Described by him that way, her complaint seemed unreasonable, trivial; more so now that she knew he had suffered some sort of ordeal of his own. Suddenly, Lisa was weary of talking. The fragile debate she had instigated was the only barrier holding back Jackson's ardor; his battle for restraint evident in his tense expression. She slowly tilted her head back against his hand, baring her throat to him.

At the open invitation, Jackson kissed her there; tasting, sucking and biting rapaciously, gratified that the intrusive conversation was over. He could feel Lisa's heat against him, radiating through their clothing. Claiming her lips, Jackson kissed her unrelentingly, forcing a moan from her; the soft sound resonating within his own throat.

Lisa began to unfasten his belt, and Jackson prolonged the kiss hungrily, though his instinct warned him to hurry… to get the hell off the roof before they were discovered.

But he needed this… _they _needed this.

Freed from all restraint, Jackson drove into her fully, bringing about an involuntary gasp from them both. Lisa kissed his jaw and neck, escalating his excitement, and he moved with slow intensity against and within her. Gripping her raised thigh, he pulled it high onto his hip, then found her mouth with his again; holding her strongly as their tongues caressed.

In Lisa, Jackson had discovered what had eluded him throughout his life, the one thing he could not achieve through sheer will and discipline… a connection with someone who wanted him on his own terms. And for the first time, they made love without the shadow of deception, the cold rooftop wind coursing around them unnoticed.

At the tightening approach of climax, Jackson stopped, holding himself motionless against Lisa, head down. But she would tolerate no interruption, and rolled her body sweetly against his, forcing movement between them. It was both permission and an entreaty. Jackson resumed with fervor, energized by her cries, each driving him on to his own pinnacle of ecstasy. His hands left her and clamped the steel body of the car brutally, sparing her vulnerable flesh as the pleasure roared through him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mathis could not believe it. Lisa had run out on him.

He circled the plaza again, increasingly worried. What could have gone wrong? Lisa had not seemed upset, and he hadn't said anything to offend or hurt her. He wasn't the kind of guy women ditched mid-date.

Mathis had spent half an hour scouring the plaza for Lisa, checking each shop, bar and restaurant. She wouldn't have called a cab… or would she? He had tried calling her cell, but it was turned off. Of course it was; someone as considerate as Lisa wouldn't leave her phone turned on during a date. And if she had in fact ditched him… well, she wouldn't turn it back on for sure.

The spectre of Rippner arose unbidden in his mind. Mathis had always been concerned that he would return to Miami for Lisa one day. But here, now? At a crowded outdoor mall on a Friday night? Surely even Rippner didn't have the cojones for a maneuver like that.

Mathis wandered close to an open bar, at a loss for how to proceed. Something felt wrong, but he had no idea what it was.

"Uncle Nick!"

Mathis turned to the voice, and located the wild, curly hair and bright smile of his niece, Crystal. She waved him over to her place at the bar.

She grinned broadly. "You looking for someone?" Before he could say anything, she barged ahead. "I saw Little Miss Terrorist on my way in here."

Mathis hated that she had never dropped her tasteless nickname for Lisa, who had been cleared months before. But rebuking her was a waste of time. "You saw Lisa?"

"Yeah. I thought you had a date with her tonight…" Crystal took a pull from her Budweiser and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Where did you see her, Crystal?"

"Oh… she was running up the parking garage stairs. It sure looked like her, anyway. Is she wearing a black cocktail dress?"

"Yes."

Crystal nodded emphatically. "Yep, that was her."

Mathis abandoned her, and began jogging toward the street.

Crystal turned on her barstool, about to yell after him, but her uncle had disappeared into the crowd. He hadn't given her the chance to deliver the punch line… that there had been some guy running up the stairs _with_ Lisa.

"Damn it… oops," she said, as beer spilled onto her chest. Now that she thought about it, the guy running up the stairwell with Uncle Nick's date had looked kind of like the jerk in the corner booth at Carmelita's last summer - Mr. Workaholic with all his papers, who she'd tried to be nice to. Well, it probably hadn't been that guy anyway. She'd seen him at a distance, and mostly from the back.

Whoever it was, Uncle Nick would give him hell when he found them.

_Whatever._

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**New Fan Art- a scene from the rooftop. Click the link on my profile page! Oh, and I do love a review...**


	31. Chapter 31

_Starlight_

_I will be chasing your starlight_

_Until the end of my life…_

_Hold you in my arms_

_I just wanted to hold you in my arms…_

"_Starlight" - Muse_

-------------------------------------------------------

Lisa drifted reluctantly back to earth, her tremulous thigh sliding down from Jackson's hip. She felt his heart pounding as he rested against her. Music from the plaza below glided by her ears, there and gone with the chilly wind, reminding her that there was a world outside their aura of heat.

"Why did you leave me, Jack?" Lisa spoke softly, her lips brushing the side of his neck.

Jackson, perturbed at the broken silence, pulled away from her and straightened his clothing. _She's relentless. _Ill at ease, he gave his jacket a hard snap and glanced around the rooftop. She sure knew how to spoil a moment.

Resentment and anger rose in him that she could not let go of this question; it suggested that she doubted his character. Was it not enough - what he had done for her on the highway that night? What more could she want from him - confessions of undying devotion; flimsy words from bended knee? Surely not… surely his actions had been sufficient. If they were not, she was forever changed in his eyes.

His cheeks still flushed from their passionate encounter, Jackson leaned close. "Lisa… I think you're waiting for a moment when all of this suddenly makes sense to you… and you know what? It'll _never _happen." Pausing, he let this sink in for her. "So, as of _this _moment, I'm done talking about the past. I put a lot on the line coming back to Miami tonight, and you've had months to think about this. You either want it or you don't."

Lisa stared at him. Despite his pitiless tone, his eyes burned her, pleading; and the addicted desperation in them broke her heart. Life with Jackson would be a frightening unknown, but mere apprehension could not overcome her compelling need to be with him. She desired him at all costs… even her very soul.

"I want it, Jack. I want _you_."

_That's more like it. _Jackson kissed her, a sensual response to her acceptance of him; and hoped his mouth upon hers would stem the flow of words. The prolonged conversation had held them on the rooftop when they could have been halfway out of Miami.

Lisa clung to him as if fearful he would slip through her fingers once more. She had made her choice - she belonged with him. Like a magician, Jackson was about to make her disappear to everyone she knew; a vanishing act that she would willingly participate in as a voluntary sacrifice to him.

When Jackson's lips parted from hers, Lisa clutched the lapels of his jacket and buried her face in his chest, hiding herself as she tried to contain her chaotic emotions. Everything was happening so fast. In surprise, she felt Jackson's arms envelop her, and his chin rested atop her head briefly in a fleeting show of warmth.

Then he released her firmly. "Come on. We're not gonna…" Jackson stopped mid-sentence, seeing the shock on Lisa's face as she looked past him.

Mathis had found them.

The detective had just come out of the stairwell. His face slackened in alarm as he recognized Jackson, and he bent quickly to retrieve his gun from an ankle holster.

Without thinking, Lisa deftly slipped in front of Jackson, shielding him bodily.

Jackson, turning, swore at the sight of Mathis.

Mathis trained the gun in their direction. "Get out of the way, Lisa," he commanded, his eyes fixed on Jackson.

Lisa backed against Jackson, spreading her arms to protect him further. For Mathis to take Jackson from her now, when she had only just been reunited with him, was too much to bear. _I can't let it happen. _She felt movement against her back - Jackson's arm reaching for his own weapon.

Jackson stealthily pulled his gun from its holster. Mathis had been clearly unprepared to encounter a threat when he came here in search of Lisa. By throwing herself between the two men, Lisa had given Jackson the upper hand - and she had done so without hesitation. As her small form pressed backwards into him, Jackson felt a rush of amazed reverence at her show of loyalty, and a stab of shame that he had ever doubted her.

"Lisa," Mathis repeated loudly, "_Get out of the way." _

Lisa stood her ground with staunch defiance.

Pride raged spectacularly through Jackson - at last, Mathis was seeing Lisa for who she really was… and so was he.

Extending his arm over Lisa's shoulder, he aimed his gun at the detective. Meeting the other man's eyes, Jackson nodded toward the open pavement between them. "Down… put it down," he said evenly.

Mathis' dark eyes blazed; his face twitched in tormented indecision. Though he did not want to disarm himself, he was not prepared to shoot toward Lisa. There were no other options.

Jackson felt Lisa trembling against him, and he soothed her with his free hand, caressing the satiny curve of her waist. _Hang in there, Leese… stay put. _

Mathis slowly held his arms out to the side in defeat. Then, never taking his eyes from Jackson's, he bent cautiously and lay the weapon on the ground.

"Back up," Jackson directed Mathis, still stroking Lisa in the hollow of her back. Under his encouraging touch, her frightened shivering had ceased. _God, she's incredible… _

Mathis took several steps backwards and halted, hands raised - as an officer, he knew the drill.

There was a tense silence as they waited for Jackson's next move - the scene now under his complete control. He thought quickly, disgusted with himself for letting the confrontation take place. Staying on the roof of the garage for so long had been a bad lapse in judgment, and now his escape with Lisa could not be made cleanly.

First things first: he needed to make sure Mathis was completely unarmed. And while he trusted Lisa with his life, Jackson could not be certain that she would search the detective properly. He would have to do it himself.

Jackson edged from behind Lisa and to her side. Taking her hand in his, he lifted her arm as if enticing her onto a ballroom floor. Then, meeting her eyes intensely, he pressed the Glock into her hand, keeping it aimed at Mathis. She stiffened and swallowed heavily, but did not draw away or lower the weapon. With smoldering satisfaction, Jackson watched her finger settle on the trigger, and thought it beautiful - a manifest display of deadly allegiance.

Gripping the weapon with determination, Lisa battled abhorrence of its lethal feel in her hand - Jackson trusted that she would guard his life with it. There had been a time when he had placed his body, his car and his gun between her and death - now was her moment to reciprocate. Bringing her other hand up for better support, Lisa gave Jackson a barely discernible nod of assent.

Jackson left Lisa's side, leaving her a clear line of fire by advancing toward Mathis in a wary, wide path.

Hands raised and mouth gaping slightly, Mathis stared at Lisa. Openly appalled, he appeared to be grappling with himself; his perceptions of her at odds with what he was facing.

_I'm pointing a gun at a police officer. _Lisa's conscience strangled her with the offensive wrongness of such an act. But when Mathis' eyes shifted mistrustfully to Jackson, she refocused and tensed her arms resolutely. Protecting Jack was all that mattered; she could not let anything happen to him.

Mathis spoke to her. "Lisa, I don't have to tell you what a mistake this is."

Jackson moved behind the detective and searched him, all the while on guard against a sudden physical attack. His own safety at this moment depended on two things - whether Lisa would in fact shoot Mathis if need be; and if Mathis _believed_ Lisa would shoot him. So far, the detective seemed willing to buy it. "Turn around," Jackson said, his voice clipped.

Mathis turned his back to Lisa, and Jackson completed the pat-down, confiscating Mathis' cell and car keys. There were no other weapons.

Mathis called over his shoulder, "Put the gun down, Lisa, before this goes too far."

Jackson addressed Mathis. "I don't think she's listening to you," he said, unable to resist a victorious jab. The detective met his eyes. Gone was the civility that both men had upheld during the investigation, the former pretense of courtesy between them now exposed as the sham it had always been. Jackson's hostility expanded as Mathis glared back at him; the hatred was mutual.

Breaking the provoking stare, Mathis turned his head and called to Lisa again. "Put the gun down, Lisa. It's all right."

Jackson nearly gave in to the urge to bludgeon the other man into silence with his fist; only a sense of personal triumph allowed Mathis to keep his teeth. The detective could say whatever he liked… Lisa had not wavered. She stood by the BMW, still aiming the gun steadfastly at Mathis' back. Jackson's gaze lingered on her approvingly.

She was, in every sense, his greatest achievement.

Almost pitying Mathis for his blind refusal to accept where Lisa's loyalties were placed, Jackson shook his head. He moved away from Mathis, twirling his finger in the air. "Turn back around." He retrieved the detective's weapon from the ground and pocketed the keys and cell phone.

Returning to Lisa, Jackson gently took his gun from her hand. As he did so, he kissed her on the side of the neck, inhaling her enchanting scent and looking pointedly at Mathis from beneath his brows. _Let him _see_, goddamn it. _

The detective looked sick as he watched, deflating noticeably as their relationship came into sharper focus for him.

"Good…" Jackson whispered to Lisa. "Take this one." He handed her Mathis' police-issue 9mm. In his eyes, Lisa had already redeemed herself for the wire, and Jackson sensed that she would go much farther for him if need be.

"Lisa, _please _don't do this," Mathis pleaded, spreading his upraised hands wider in supplication. "Don't throw your life away for him. You know he's not worth it. Think of everything he's put you through."

Although Jackson seemed unaffected by this slur, Lisa wished Mathis would shut up; his hurtful words did nothing to alter her feelings, and increased the guilt she felt. _This is my fault_. Mathis had been drawn into the scenario solely because she had delayed their departure. If she had listened to Jack and left with him sooner, as he had wanted…. Mentally Lisa begged Mathis to remain calm and compliant with Jackson. The precarious situation could explode at any moment - the cold air around them seemed to crackle with volatility.

Jackson took a moment to survey the nearby buildings, observing their heights and distances from the parking garage. The location was relatively secure - it was unlikely that anyone could see what was happening on their rooftop, though not impossible. The greatest danger came from the garage levels beneath them. A car full of witnesses could surface from below at any time, and there was no way to anticipate or prevent it.

Aiming his gun at Mathis, Jackson gestured at Lisa to lower hers. "Lie down on the ground," he instructed the other man, approaching him again.

The detective dropped to his knees, then lay facedown on the pavement.

Jackson stood over him, attaching a suppressor to the gun with methodical indifference. "Put your hands together behind your head."

Mathis did so, fear finally making its appearance in his visibly shaking hands. He spoke to Lisa once more, his voice leaking out onto the asphalt in an agony of desperation, "Lisa, _please_…" Knowing she had his gun; his last hope that she would turn on Jackson to save him.

Jackson aimed the gun at Mathis - at his head.

Lisa almost shut her eyes. Witnessing the execution of a police officer was not a price she was willing to pay for escape.

She bolted toward Jackson and pulled his shoulder backward, trying to turn him around. "Jack, don't…"

Jackson faced her halfway, gun still trained on Mathis' head, a disturbingly well-practiced blankness in his eyes.

Lisa's mind raced frantically. She had to convince Jackson that they could - no, _needed_ - to make their escape without killing Mathis. "It's too risky," she said quickly, "too exposed." Her eyes darted to the city around them, praying that he would see the sense of this. _Please, Jack… _Though he was clearly fuming at her interference, Jackson's eyes followed hers to the nearby buildings for the briefest instance.

_Funny, I was just thinking that myself… _Jackson blew out an irritated breath. Much as he hated to admit it, Lisa was right. Killing Mathis here on an exposed rooftop was not the ideal way of neutralizing him.

Lisa was waiting, her eyes large with anxiety - counting on him to come up with an alternative.

And there was one, but he didn't like it.

Rummaging in his pocket, Jackson came up with the keys to the detective's Pontiac. He gave them to Lisa. "Go get his car and bring it up here. And hurry."

Lisa ran for the stairwell, depositing Mathis' gun on the hood of the BMW as she passed it. Jackson watched her go, hoping her sprint would not draw any attention.

-------------------------------

Lisa fitted the key into the door lock of the Pontiac with quaking hands, after stabbing the metal around it several times. She had to hurry. Throwing herself into Mathis' car, she jammed the key into the ignition and started it. The Pontiac purred into life, and Lisa searched the unfamiliar, dark interior frantically for the control that turned on the car's lights and instrument panel.

Reversing the car out of its space and accelerating up the ramp that would take her to the next level, Lisa resisted the panicky idea that she would return to find Mathis dead and Jackson ready to load the body into the vehicular casket she had so willingly procured for him. _Please, no… _

There had been a hint of relenting agreement in Jackson's eyes as he had given her the keys to Mathis' car; this alone allowed her to trust that he intended to spare the detective. He never would have done so if not for her intrusion - Jackson was doing this for her, and her alone. Still, there was no telling what might happen between the two men on the roof.

She had to hurry.

---------------------------------------------

Alone with Mathis, Jackson lowered the gun to his side. The other man lay prone on his stomach, hands still laced behind his head.

"You shouldn't have come back, Jackson," Mathis said, his voice sounding constricted in his throat.

"And you should shut up," Jackson said, annoyed. "Don't think for a second that _she _saved you. This isn't mercy. This is common sense." The idea that Mathis might think he had gone soft under Lisa's influence was entirely too irksome to tolerate, and made him want to prove otherwise.

Mathis turned his head slightly, his eye rolling hard into its corner, trying to see him. "It's a mistake, taking Lisa with you… her integrity is only going to get in your way…"

Hot rage boiled up in Jackson and he leaned down, pressing the Glock into the back of Mathis' head, hard enough to part the man's hair with the muzzle's end. Hand tightening on the weapon, it was all he could do not to pull the trigger. "I want you to _stop talking_," he said with quiet venom, shoving the gun cruelly against the detective's skull. "Do you think you can manage that?"

Mathis shut his eyes tightly and went silent.

_I should kill him now, before Lisa comes back. No matter the risk._ Warring with himself, Jackson tore the gun away from Mathis' head and stepped back in restless frustration. You didn't kill a cop unless it was necessary. Right now, it wasn't… though it was a damned attractive impulse.

Jackson waited, hoping Lisa would be quick to bring the car… he wasn't sure how long he could stave off the urge to kill the other man. Even though Mathis lay defenseless before him, Jackson could not shake the dark, unsettling sense of threat emanating from him - that Mathis was merely lying in wait, ready for some sudden chance to go for broke. Tension building within him, Jackson pulled in a deep breath.

The sound of an approaching car drew Jackson's attention. Headlights brightened the ramp from the level below, slicing through the darkness and angling upwards as it neared. He lowered his arm to a more natural position by his side, gun hidden casually behind his leg, in case it was someone other than Lisa.

The dark blue Pontiac came into sight, and Jackson released an inaudible sigh of relief. He guided Lisa toward him, motioning for her to park a short distance away from the BMW. The car crept up to him, and upon closer inspection, Jackson saw that it was dirty - the navy blue paint trying desperately to shine through layers of grime. _And he took Lisa out in this, _Jackson thought, looking at the face-down detective with amused disdain.

Getting out of the car, Lisa hurried to him with the keys, and her worried eyes fell on Mathis' unmoving form on the ground.

"Yes, he's still alive, Leese," Jackson said, with mock reassurance. He moved to the Pontiac's trunk and unlocked it. Lifting the lid, he peered inside its shadowed interior briefly. No spare tire, nothing large to remove, and just enough room. _Good. _This could be done fast.

"Get in my car," he said to Lisa, giving her a quick, appreciative kiss on the cheekbone and jerking his chin toward the BMW. "We're leaving in just a second."

"What are you going to…"

"In my car, Lisa," Jackson repeated. His eye flashed a warning as he handed her his own keys.

Lisa backed away unwillingly and opened the BMW's passenger door. Still standing, she loitered there, holding the door, fearful of Jackson's plan.

"Get up," Jackson commanded the detective, directing the Glock at him again.

Mathis rose.

Jackson indicated the open trunk of the Pontiac. "Inside. Now."

Stiff-legged, Mathis marched to the rear of his vehicle. With a final glance at Lisa, he climbed awkwardly into the small trunk and lay on his side, drawing his knees up tightly.

Jackson slammed the trunk lid with vehement force, enclosing the detective within, and yanked the key from the lock. Nice and tidy. Mathis would have several hours ahead of him, lying in the musty darkness, to mull over what he would write on his police report about the night's events. By then, Jackson would have boarded the private jet waiting in West Palm… with Leese. His lips curved in a gratified smile.

Jackson glanced at Lisa. Realizing that Mathis had been spared, she was settling down in the passenger seat of the BMW, ready to go.

Then, a sudden, sickening drop in his stomach - the gut-wrenching thud of a realized mistake. A critical one. _I didn't clear the trunk before I put him in there. I only glanced… _Jackson quickly selected the trunk key again. Mathis had been in there only seconds. Not too late…

"What's the matter?" Lisa's voice, sharp with concern.

Jackson shoved the key into the lock. There was a deafening bang in front of him - almost in his face - and reflexively he leaped aside. Glancing back, he saw the bullet hole in the trunk, a couple inches above the lock - right where he had been standing. He couldn't believe he had not been hit. _Holy fucking shit… _As he had feared, there was indeed a gun in the trunk, and Mathis had quickly located and fired it.

_Okay, that's it, _Jackson thought furiously. Lisa or no Lisa, it was time to put Mathis down. He was too dangerous. Jackson shook his head and unleashed a stream of profanity, infuriated at himself for the double mistake of letting Mathis live even this long… and for not clearing the trunk before putting him in it. The detective wouldn't stay contained for long if he shot his way out.

Lisa was sitting sideways in the front seat of the BMW, and Jackson watched her put her hand slowly to her mouth. Her legs drew together, as if she were about to get up again. He didn't want her anywhere near this.

"Stay over there, Leese," Jackson warned her. A wave of dizziness came over him suddenly. Repositioning his hand on his gun assertively, he approached the trunk from the side, ready to fire down into it - to unload the weapon on the devious fucker inside.

Everything around him spun again; the skyline tilted crazily. _What the fuck… _His shirt was wet.

He _had_ been hit.

He couldn't feel it. Jackson looked down, almost not comprehending the crimson stain blossoming dead center on his torso. _It should hurt. Why doesn't it hurt? Why can't I feel it…? _Fireflies flashed in his vision, and he lowered the gun, confusion dimming his objective.

_Mathis. Yeah. Get this done. _Jackson raised the Glock again and took a step closer to the car, and it was as if the ground had given away softly under him. He collapsed to the pavement hard, but that did not hurt either.

Everything was soft and muted, even the flashes before his eyes. Hearing the hurried, gritty shuffle of Lisa's shoes as she ran to him, Jackson rolled over onto his back, stunned at his stupid, irrevocable mistake, and the swiftly spreading heaviness of his limbs.

He had been fatally wounded… and it was going to be quick.

"Jack… _Jack_…" Lisa gasped in disbelief. She knelt, her knees grinding into the pavement by his head. "Oh, my _God_." With one look at the blood on his shirt, she started to rise again, her voice shaken. "Don't move. I'll call…"

_No. _

His strength fading, Jackson caught her slender wrist in his hand. If she left him now, he would die alone. Too much of his life had been spent that way.

Reading the meaning in his eyes, Lisa froze, then sank slowly back down.

Jackson felt her gentle hands lift his head onto her lap, pillowing him in her softness. A calm lassitude enveloped him - natural anesthetic to the dying, eliminating the useless emotions of regret, sorrow, fear. And hadn't he always known it would end like this…? He'd broken each and every one of his rules, trying to reach for something that was beyond him. Still, he had nearly pulled it off…

Faintly, he smiled.

Lisa stroked his brow, saying nothing.

Strong… Leese was so strong. Not crying, even now. Holding herself together for him. He loved her for it. He wanted to reach up and stroke her face - just once more - but his arm wouldn't move; his whole body was going to sleep. She'd never know he wanted to touch her…

Sleepy, he struggled to keep his eyes open, not yet ready to lose sight of her. His beautiful Leese…

Seeing his feeble battle for awareness, she pursed her lips and whispered to him. "Shhhh…" Her gentle fingers traced his brows.

He had gone from feeling heavy to very light; Leese's touch the only thing keeping him from floating off. One last look at her compassionate face, her sensitive eyes, surrounded by wind-tousled hair… he was dying a painless death, held by a beautiful woman.

Jackson closed his eyes.

He'd had to go to the end of his life to find its finest moment: Leese's gossamer touch upon his face…

But even her caress could no longer hold him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_He's gone._

Lisa ran her hand over Jackson's forehead, waiting for the storm of grief to ravage her, but there was only an encompassing numbness. Taking his hand in hers, she kissed it, studying the scars that adorned it - she would never hear their story now. His sleeve pulled back a little, and she ran her fingers over the metallic gleam of his watch, a feature that had always seemed part of who he was.

The impact of Jackson's death was incomprehensible; its very suddenness staggering. Minutes ago, he had been alive. A short time before, he had made love to her… and now he was gone.

He had gone so fast. But he had not suffered, and he had not been afraid.

Lisa's face crumpled and she shook her head in denial, folding her body over him, but still no tears came. Strange that such a deep wound to her soul would not bleed…

A voice called to her, muffled from the inside the Pontiac's trunk.

"Lisa…?"

Lisa sat up partially, jaw clenched in startled fury. _Mathis. _

Mathis - whose reprieve she herself had prompted. In sparing the detective, she had thought perhaps she had entered into an unspoken agreement with him - that no blood would be shed this night. Her word had stayed Jackson's hand, and Mathis had promptly shattered the accord by murdering Jackson.

Her eye fell on Jackson's gun. It rested on the ground beside him, where he had let go of it in his final moments.

Reaching for it slowly, Lisa tried to remember her initial justification for sparing Mathis. Certainly she had been motivated by long-entrenched ideas of right and wrong - all of which had been blasted away in an instant with the report of Mathis' gun.

All that mattered now was what had been taken from her.

Tenderly lowering Jackson's lifeless body from her lap to the ground, she kissed his brow, smoothed his hair.

She stood and approached the Pontiac, tightening her hand on Jackson's gun, a sense of righteousness powering through her that it was _his _weapon she would use.

Lisa stood before the trunk and spoke to the black bullet hole. "Nick? Jackson's dead." Her voice was level and composed… Jackson would have been pleased.

"Let me out, Lisa." Even now, Mathis trusted her, believed in her goodness.

The trunk key still protruded from the lock - Jackson's fingers had been gripping it when Mathis shot him.

Lisa turned the key. The trunk popped ajar, a sliver of black around the edge of the lid.

She opened the lid to reveal Mathis coiled on his side, and Lisa's face distorted in rage as she was instantly overcome by a simple, unforgivable truth.

_He killed Jack._

With a swift thrust, she aimed Jackson's gun point blank at the detective… and the worst thing she had ever done suddenly became the easiest.


End file.
